


Love, Lilly

by Dariary_Absentee



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Billy's Mom Comes Back, Billy-centric, Byers Family Dinners, Child Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-s3, Recreational Drug Use, Steve Harrington makes friends his own age, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, lots of billy with a dog content, post-s2, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:35:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dariary_Absentee/pseuds/Dariary_Absentee
Summary: Billy didn’t immediately recognize the woman in front of him as his mother. His mom was tiny and fragile and made of jagged edges. This woman is radiant and healthy. Her skin is golden. Her hair is yellow like flowers, eyes honed in on him brimming with tears.Their eyes match--startlingly blue irises with thick long lashes, the same stub of a nose, and gorgeous hair. The older he got the more he was told he looks like Neil. The people who have seen her knew there wasn't a contest.He looks just like her.He watched her swallow, a few tears fell from her eyes as she smiled “hi, sunshine.”--A redo of "Everyone Has a Mom...Even Billy Hargrove"





	1. Tiny Cuts (Billy)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! If you're new this is a redo of an old fic, which I will be taking down very soon. If you been knew, Welcome back! I'm glad you stuck with me through all my bs and I'm eternally grateful. For the first bit you might recognize some similarities between the new fic and the old one but it's going in a different direction from the original, for sure.  
> I started re-writing this fic before season 3 came out, like, in March, and this fic takes place in January of 1985. I don't intend on changing what I've written because of the new season, but I appreciate the new content lol.  
> Thank you so much to Indirafallen for reading beta-ing this chapter for me. Please go check out their stuff! Because we stan authors and artist supporting other authors and artists!!! :D

Neil Hargrove stopped leaving marks on his son in May of 1984 after his ex-wife called for the fifth time that month. 

He was hoping to get a somber call _about_ her one day, not a call _from_ her sounding everything _but_ dead to the world. Last he remembered, she had been as dead as any corpse in a coffin.

By July, he answered the phone just to hang it up again. 

At the end of the summer, he married Susan. She was a secretary for some company or other, with dull blue eyes and red hair. She was divorced and middle class, average and tame, and, most importantly, nothing like his son’s mother. Susan had a child close enough in his own son’s age; her name was Maxine. She had bright blue eyes much fiercer than her mother’s, the same dark red hair and nearly too many freckles on her sun-kissed skin. 

The four of them made a good-looking family. 

Billy, his son, knew why they were leaving California by the time they were shoving the last of their belongings into separate cars. His new stepsister had heard it too. It was all pretty damn simple: his mom wanted him back and his old man didn’t want to share.

By October, their new family had packed up all their shit, and he, his dad, Susan, and Max drove over 2,000 miles from San Diego, California to Hawkins, Indiana. They packed up and hauled ass like ocean and warm weather were going out of style. Like the whole damn state of California was going to be swallowed up in flames and only they knew about it.

He didn’t hear about his loon of a mother…for about a week. It was a week where his old man smirked, satisfied at his good work and Susan spent all of her time trying to find something to match the teal fireplace and Max _hated_ him because this is _all your fault, Billy._

As if he had any say in what _anyone_ wanted.

It didn’t matter, his ma ended up following them all to the God-forsaken wasteland people politely call “the Midwest.” A hellhole without a palm tree or a grain of sand in sight.

And then they went to court.

And then she got him back 

And _then,_ all of it was for _nothing._

There was a little voice in the back of Billy’s head telling him he should stock up on the Hargrove-Mayfield show while supplies last. In a few days, thanks to the Indiana legal system, he wouldn’t have to deal with anything having to do with their dysfunctional little tribe. No more family dinners like the one he was currently sat at; no more rotisserie chicken; no more Neil, no more Susan, no more Max.

“Can I go downtown?” Max asked. 

Neil wiped at his face with his napkin. He paused, “For what?” 

“I need a gift,” she said, not looking at him but at his shoulder.

She didn’t know how to handle his old man’s intense gaze, not that Max was afraid of anyone. Billy’s pretty damn sure she hasn't been afraid of much since they moved. 

“My friend’s having a birthday party.” She pushed her food around her plate, a skinless chicken leg (she always eats the skin first) and completely forgotten broccoli.

“Why didn’t you say something when we were out the other day?” Susan huffed. “We could’ve gotten her a gift then.” 

“ _Him_ , mom,” Max said. Her head fell onto her fist. “ _Him_. Mike, Dustin, Lu–”

“You’re hunching.”

“That’s not even relevant.” She pouted in her seat but did as she was told, sitting like there’s a book on her head. “What’s more _important_ is that I didn’t say anything because I _knew_ you were going to make a big deal about me going to Dustin’s birthday party.”

“When is it?” Neil asked. 

“Sunday, January twentieth,” Max said. “It’s at four-thirty at his house.”

“Billy can take you to get a gift and then he can drop you off,” he said. He took a swig from his can. “Problem solved.” 

Billy opened his mouth to say, ‘actually, no I really _can’t’_ , but his old man already knew that. And _also,_ who has a birthday party on a fucking _Sunday?_

Besides, Susan spoke first:

“He’ll be over his mother’s by then, Neil,” she muttered while cutting her chicken into neat, oblong strips. It wasn’t a statement; it was a question. Telling is for equals, and as far as Billy’s concerned, she and Neil were not that.

Neil wiped at his mouth with his napkin again. 

“It’s just an hour.” He sat back in his chair, kept one hand wrapped around the Rolling Rock can. “I’ll make sure she knows he’ll be a little late.” 

Billy snorted loudly. 

He could choke on BIG BUYS’ dry-as-a-bone rotisserie chicken and die right in front of him and he still wouldn’t call her. 

“You have something to say, Billy?” 

“Yeah, she’s probably gonna call the cops if I’m late,” he said nearly without a single tone in his voice. “She’s gonna think I drove into a ditch or something.” It was a fact: his mom was b-a-t-s-h-i-t and she _will_ freak out if he’s late.

She's paranoid like that and always has been.

Despite what the Mayfield-Hargrove family seemed to think, He wasn’t gung-ho about seeing the woman, but he was even less ecstatic at the idea of his ma losing her shit before he even gets there. 

Neil’s jaw tightened. His teeth shifted behind his close-mouthed frown because they both knew he was right.

Max looked between the two of them, “It’s not a big deal, I can just–” 

“No, no,” he cut her off. He wasn’t going to let his mother throw an even bigger wrench in everything. Billy knew that. Susan knew too, and if Max is as smart as Billy thinks she is, she’ll figure it out soon as well.

But they can all feel the chink in his armour growing bigger. If their family is a machine, the cogs are moving out of place.

“Our lives are a little different now and we’re all going to have to figure out how to adjust, including his mother,” Neil said. He tilted the can, not once looking away from Billy, trying to gain control again. “If she calls the police, so be it. At least they’re going to get used to her crying wolf.”

She _never_ cried wolf. 

Not once, no matter how bad it was. _She told the truth_.

Billy watched the bulging vein protruding from his old man’s forehead for a second. He could feel his pulse in the tight grip around the fork and knife. He imagined plunging both utensils through his hands. 

Max opened her mouth, which was all screwed up like she might say something incredibly stupid. With a swift flick of her head she looked down at her plate in front of her and muttered:

“Oh.” 

(Yeah, _oh,_ indeed).

Max was only thirteen. He wasn’t sure why he thought she would do anything other than keep her head out of Hargrove business like she’d been taught to. It’s the one time she _isn’t_ obnoxiously defiant. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you all about the changes that are going to be happening lately,” he said. 

Billy scowled. “What else is there to talk about? You lost, and now I go over there for two weeks a month or did I miss something?” 

He jaw jigglged back and forth, grinding his teeth again. Billy knew he wasn’t the one who threw a wrench in everything, but he might as well have been. His old man looked at him like he was covered in Hawkins’ best manure. “I didn't _lose_ anything,” he growled.

Billy couldn’t really see much of Max's face behind the curtain of red hair that had fallen over her countenance. She pushed her broccoli back and forth on her plate. 

Neil cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone’s attention again. 

“Now that that’s been made clear, I think it should be easy to understand why I don’t want this becoming public news. It’s a small town and people talk, let’s not have it be about us anymore.” 

He stared down Billy. Max did as well, with the judgmental eyes of a Catholic priest, no less, as if she hadn’t sedated him, threatened to turn his dick and balls into Hamburger Helper, and stolen his car on the _same_ night they’re all purposefully not talking about.

Susan’s shoulders dropped slightly. She went back to carefully selecting a piece of chicken from her plate now that the worst of it had passed. 

They nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” Neil hummed, leaning over the table a little. “What?”

“Yes, sir,” they all said. 

“Good.” Neil sat back in his chair. He rested his hands above his belt. “It’s an unpleasant change, but we’re all going to try to make the best of it.” 

“So, he’s just not going to be here at all? _For two weeks_?” Max said

Billy looked at her and the little grin just barely pulling at the corners of her mouth. He was reminded that he was living with an asshole and a she-devil that mistakenly took the form of a little girl. 

“Stop being a brat, Max.” 

“What’s your _deal_?”  
“You’re smiling,” Billy hissed. “Wanna share why?”

Max covered her laugh with an affronted little sound. “I’m _not_ smiling,” she lied. “I’m just curious, like, if you forget something, can you come back? Are you _completely_ stuck there for the whole time?” She asked. “Am I gonna have to listen to Judas Priest at six in the morning or can I have peace and quiet _for once?_ ” 

In case anyone was wondering, he won’t miss her. Not even a little bit. Not at all.

Billy glared at her. 

“Billy,” Susan said lightly. Her fingers had begun curling up; her face had too many lines on it again.

Neil cleared his throat, all eyes turned on him at what would be the head of the table if it weren’t so small and square. They fell silent with Susan putting her head down so far it looked like she was trying to touch her bottom lip to the ruffles on her shirt. 

“Maxine, that's enough.” 

Billy watched with satisfaction as the smile dropped from her face. She bowed her head, her eyes glaring into her lap. “Sorry.” 

“You think it's funny?” Neil was using that special, diplomatic voice he really only saved for Max and Susan. _The sheep_ , that’s what he called them when it was only the two of them. 

Sheep that needed to be led. 

“No, sir,” she said as if she were a good little girl. This little Maxine wouldn’t dare steal anyone's car. _No sir._

Billy scoffed under his breath. 

“Not another _sound_ out of you!” Neil roared at him. 

The table became dead silent and motionless except for Neil wiping at his face with the damn napkin again, thinking for a moment. He turned his hard gaze back on Max. 

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “It’s not funny at all. Your brother is going to have to spend time with a lunatic, is that funny too?” 

“No, sir,” Max muttered. 

“I didn’t think so,” he said with stern severity. 

“Neil--” Susan cut in. 

Billy clenched the utensil again to keep from wincing. He would’ve been done for sure if she hadn’t just…well, if Susan just wasn’t Susan sometimes. And Susan, as quiet as she normally is, _always_ say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

"She's old enough to understand. That woman is unstable and she's _sick,_ ” he barked loudly, had been getting louder since he started. 

Neil took a sip from his Rolling Rock can; nobody talked. His old man threw the crumpled remains of his napkin over his plate and stood. His hand dug into his back pocket, fishing something out. “This came for you.” 

Neil smacked the white envelope down on the kitchen with a heavy sound.

Susan pretended the rotisserie chicken wasn’t bland enough to choke on. Neil left them alone. Max was scowling down at her broccoli, red in the face, and Billy stared at the letter in front of him. 

_To Billy_

Billy paced with the envelope clutched in his hand. Back and forth like a barely contained circus lion. Back and forth because his room felt smaller than it did when first he walked into it. Back and forth because he’s got no decent reason to drive somewhere and his old man is pissed enough as is.

He wasn’t surprised that the envelope was creased from being in Neil's pocket, or that it was already opened.

All he had said was ‘a few days.’ There’s no date on it either. His old man could’ve been holding onto to it since the court settled everything weeks ago.

Maybe even earlier.

He stared at the envelope, rubbed his lips, and dropped it again. It was heavy with something solid packed inside. 

He grabbed the carton of Reds off his desk and lit the cig between his lips. He pulled on it until the smell of her wasn’t trying to cram its way up his nose and sat down. All he could taste and smell was smoke and wet paper, he liked it better that way.

Billy hunched over with the letter between his hands. First, he worked the clunky thing out of the envelope. 

It was a keychain.

Actually, a key _and_ a keychain, but the key wasn’t what had caught Billy’s eye. The keychain was much more important.

It was of a naked, scarlet red devil wearing a bowler hat. The hat tipped over half of its face, leaving one yellow eyeball to stare menacingly back at him. One thin leg crossed over the other like it's supposed to be leaning against a wall. It was mean-mugging, a cigar and smoke piped from its lips.

"What the hell?”

At the bottom it read:

_The Death Valley Devils_

_Est.1963_

Billy's face scrunched. "The fuck does that even mean?"

He kept the devil dangling in front of his face, pushed it with his finger and watched the flimsy, woven thing spin.

Death Valley Devils weren't familiar to him, but it looked kitschy like something she would’ve snagged for him as a kid because he thought it was badass.

Some things don’t change, he guessed.

He set the key aside and moved on to the letter.

**_To Billy_ **

**_My Sunshine_ **

No one’s called him sunshine like that in a long time. People only called Billy Hargrove “sunshine” when he’d just taken a fat yellow piss all over someone’s parade. 

She meant _her sunshine, her only sunshine_. He was the one that made her happy when her skies were gray.

He unfolded the letter. 

**_Dear Billy,_ **

**_I’m sorry this is the first time you’re hearing from me in nearly a decade. It’s been too long and that wasn’t fair to you. I hope you can one day forgive me for taking so long to come back. I'm not the person I was, and I know you aren't either. I love you so much Billy, more than I can put into words._ **

He thought she would just phone it all in. He would. The words sounded like hers like she _spoke_ every single one of them before writing them. They were perfect. They were here. Billy tapped ash onto his windowsill and kept reading.

**_I don’t expect you to feel the same way, but I wanted to let you know I can’t wait to see you. I wish I could say more in this letter, but we’ll have time to talk on Sunday._ **

What would he even say if he'd been given the chance to write back? He remembered her best hunched over, crying. He remembered his ma’s pale face, a pair of watery blue eyes and long, frazzled hair. She was a bunch of vague memories and impressions. 

It was probably better he didn’t get a chance to write anything back.

**_Enclosed in this letter is a key to our house. Our address is 150 Bay Meadow Lane, it’s the little street right off of Kerley Blvd. and Cornwallis St. Your room is all put together. I tried to decorate it in a way you’d like, but you can bring things over to make it more comfortable. I can’t wait to see you._ **

**_Love you always,_ **

**_Mom_ **

**_P.S. I hope you like the keychain, it seemed like something you’d be into. I can’t wait to tell you all about it._ **

**_I'll see you soon, Sunshine._ **

The smoke from his lips quivered when it came out with a choked sound. He rubbed the back of his wrist over his eyes. The band of his woven bracelet cut into his eyelids and cheeks, and in the reflection of his mirror, his whole face was red.

Billy stood with a grunt, lit another cig and started looking for that shitty map of Hawkins he’d gotten at the Fair Mart on his first day in town.


	2. Home Sweet Home

It was an awful day to be holding a birthday party. It was cold enough that Susan insisted Max bundle up before leaving, the clouds are looking like they’re threatening snow, and the air feels like thorns in his lungs.

It was an awful day to be outside all together.

Billy looked down at his watch. “That nerd’s actually your friend, right?” 

He wasn’t sure if Max was taking her _sweet time_ looking over Melvald’s limited number of birthday cards because she hated the guy or because she _really_ gave a shit.

Max didn’t answer either.

“Hey, shitbird, I’m talking to you.”

She flicked her hand at him, and he had an intense urge to break her wrist, which isn’t acceptable nine-out-of-ten times. The lanky teen up front keeps looking at him like _he’s_ the one causing a problem, too.

“It’s 4:17, and you’re still looking at the fucking card, Max. You haven't even gotten a present yet." 

“I got him a gift already,” she said. Max held up two cards indecisively, she eyeballed one especially.

As much as he doesn’t care how, he wasn’t dumb enough to gloss over the fact that the other night she didn’t have a gift and had no way of getting one and now she has one. “Oh yeah? You lift something, Maxine?” 

Her lips pursed at her full name, but not for long. She turned to look at him with the most shit-eating grin she could muster, “ _your_ old 1984 comic books, they were in the junk box in the basement,” she said coolly. She put back one of the cards in her hands. “Neil said everything in the junk box I can take if I want to.” 

_Un-fucking-believable._

“Asshole,” he snorted and bit down on his nail.

“That’s some real bogus shit, Max, you know that? I thought you said he was your friend?” 

She tossed her orange hair over her shoulder, stuck her chin up and walked past him. “Okay, _William._ ” 

She picked up a dark blue party bag with gold stars on her way to the front desk. He watched her dig a five out of her pocket and hand it to the clown behind the counter. He could only be thankful Susan’s usually good with doling out cash for Max. 

“You’ve got seven minutes by the way,” Billy said, looking down at his watch.

“You don’t even want to _be_ over there in the first place--thanks, you too.” She stuck the change in her pocket and turned around with her face all screwed up. “Why are you in such a rush?” 

Billy has always been kind of a shitheel and a waste of everybody’s time and patience but he’s got this saying drilled into his head: to be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, to be late is to be dead, so…

“Just shut up and get in the car,” he grumbled.

And as promised, Neil didn’t say a word to his mom and honestly, Billy is amazed he hasn’t been pulled over because she thought he was dead. He was on edge. The threat of a nailed bat to the balls or Neil somewhere else far away.

Max huffed at him, “touchy much?” 

He smacked Max upside the head without thinking. “ _Ow!”_

“You’re wearing a hat, you barely felt that,” he said. “Stop being a crybaby.”

He didn’t even hit her _that_ hard, just enough to startle because she was, after all, being a _real_ shit-stain, and if she had a working brain cell, she’d know today isn’t the day to press every single button he had. 

“What _the hell_ is your problem?” She snapped.

She was walking backwards out the store to yell at him like not cracking her head on the ice outside wasn’t a problem. 

“You are talking about shit you don’t know anything about, that’s my problem.” Billy ignored her huffing all the way to the Camaro. 

He tapped out a Red and lit it, taking a deep inhale. 

The smoke eased the tension behind his eyes. Max watched him. She scoffed and wrenched the door open. 

He exhaled. “Don’t even _think_ about slamming that door, I swear to God, Max.” 

She scrunched up face, the pale skin under her freckles turned red from more than just the cold. “I can’t wait until you’re gone,” she spat. Max threw herself into the passenger seat and shut the door behind here. 

“Yeah, me too,” he snorted.

Max opened her mouth, sucked in a breath to speak but Billy rolled his head to look at her, bright blue eyes ignited and threatening. “ _Shut up_ ,” he said. “I’ve heard enough shit from you for a lifetime.”

He opened the window to flick the cig out of the car.

Max’s open mouth shut, she glared at him, scoffed. 

Billy turned up the radio to a nearly ear-splitting volume and watched Max grimace. It served her _right._ The ride to Henderson’s will be short and then he’ll be out of her hair for two weeks. She can shut up and sit down for fifteen minutes.

Billy remembered the curly-haired bastard simply because he’s not Sinclair, because Harrington clearly liked him the best, because his house is in the middle of nowhere, deep in Hawkins’ woods.

He watched Max get to the front door from inside the Camaro. He made sure to at least be around just in case she slipped and split her little red head open on the icy walkway or something like that. It wouldn’t matter to anyone if he was there watching her or not, but it felt a lot better than him speeding off immediately. 

Billy looked at the low to the ground bungalow, modern in appearance with earthy brown coloring. He briefly wondered why Max had to make friends with people that _really_ made them look as dirt poor as they actually are.

" _Jesus,”_ he rubbed a hand over his face and looked down at his watch.

 _It’s four-_ **_fucking_ ** _-fifty._

He shouldn’t have talked to Max _at all,_ he should’ve just gotten her in the car and went.

 _“_ **_Shit!_ **” Billy cursed.

He reversed out of the curly-haired bastard’s driveway, the tires kicked up the remnants of dead leaves and slush. His music was ear-splittingly loud too. If there was a Mr. and Mrs. Curly-Haired Bastard around, they probably hate him now.

He turned down the cracked road. Out onto the main drag. People look cold out on the sidewalk, post-church and tired, but he couldn’t care less about the hicks in town as long as they don’t wander out into the street.

The light is red.

He stopped. 

His fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel. 

He’s never hated red more in his entire life. He glared up at it, fingers tightening around the steering wheel like he has any control over the thing in front of him, like has any control of what time it is.

His foot pressed down on the gas as soon as the light was green again. He’s probably speeding, or at least he’s driving as fast as he always is when Max isn’t in the car and he’s running late.

Which was fast, probably _too fast_. 

He slowed down just enough to avoid one of the patrol cars stealthily parked around Hawkins stopping him. Showing up with a ticket would go over just _swell,_ he was sure. 

**_Our address is 150 Bay Meadow Lane, it’s the little street right off of Kerley Blvd. and Cornwallis St. Your room is all put together._**

He knew it from memory. He’s driven on the little street just off of Kerley and Cornwallis, like almost every road in Hawkins. Except the little street right off of Kerly and Cornwallis leads to same house where the thing he’s _not supposed to talk about_ happened. Billy sped through the streets lined with even more gray trees and crisps, dead leave, and ugly little house just like the one on Old Cherry Lane. 

He made a sharp left at the little green Bay Meadow Lane sign. 

140.

It was all woods, then big grey field and dead grass, and the shittiest paved road on the planet. His tires kicked up pebbles like shrapnel. 

149\. 

He didn't linger or stare at that awful house where shit went _bad_. The house he’s supposed to be at is right next to it, Billy felt cursed. 

150\. 

The Camaro rumbled over the dirt road leaving a big cloud of dry, beige dust. He careened into the driveway, full-throttle like the music he left blaring. The car jerked violently to a stop and Billy winced. 

He turned the music off with snap; there was nothing left but the startling silence of rural, backwater Indiana and the sound of his own breathing, and Angel rumbling softly.

His dry tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. He gulped in a breath and swallowed.

The house was longer than it was tall, a ranch-style nothing like the bland cream house Neil picked out for them. The vibrant green bushes and flowers out front alone made it different. Against the white vinyl and dark blue shutters, they popped like jewels. 

There was a swing seat on the front porch that rocked back and forth with the wind. Another car was parked in the yard, covered by a blue tarp. He knew the outline of the old cotton candy blue Volkswagen Beetle she used to have from anywhere, it sat under a waxy black tarp in California. 

This little hutch was nothing like the pastel yellow house with the white shutters and picket fence either. But nothing has been like their home at the bell-like end of the cul-de-sac since they moved away.

Billy took his foot off the brake and let the car roll into the open garage--separate from the house. He parked in it, let the engine idle for a second and exhaled when he finally killed the ignition. He leaned back with both his hands gripping the steering wheel. His insides were tied up in knots so tight that it felt hard to breathe. Even in the garage, _her_ garage he could hear Hawkins.

The birds.

The trees.

The swing creaking.

It was deafening.

He wondered if she heard him pull up. If she knew he was just _sitting_ in his car trying to breathe. She would. She always knew that kind of stuff. She would know things without him having to say a word about it. He tried to blink away the headache that was forming. Last night he didn't sleep; he couldn’t sleep. Billy reached for the smashed carton of cigarettes in his pocket and stopped, he thought better of it—he didn’t want to smell like cigarettes around her.

Even if he didn’t owe her anything, not even that.

He still didn't want to. 

His legs felt like dough and hands were shaking, but he’s already running late--didn't like to _be_ late so he got up and tried not to think about much of anything. He grabbed his bag in the backseat and shut the garage. His boots crunched gravel. Billy searched around his pockets for the key and the little devil hanging around it with frozen fingers.

He stared down at the doormat underneath him.

**_Doorbell Broken. Yell Ding Dong!_ **

_She would_ , Billy thought. This was the kind of dumb shit that would’ve made them both laugh a long time ago.

Billy lodge the key into the door and twisted, on the other side, he heard barking loudly.

“That’s new.”

The dog kept barking. It didn’t sound like one of those yapping lap dogs that reminded him of Max. It sounded big. “Alright, Cujo, I get it.” Billy got a foot in the door and was met with the dark snout of, unsurprisingly, a _massive_ dog. The next few minutes were a ridiculous trade of Billy trying to fit through the door while also keeping the big bastard of a dog from escaping outside.

He slammed the door shut behind him and was accosted by the thing as it sniffed around and jumped excitedly.

“Okay, okay, hi,” Billy said. Trying to get the mountain of a dog to settle. He has to be a Mastiff or a Saint Bernard or something. “Hi, hi, I know, I’m new” Billy finally got enough space to kneel down and pet him.

He was pretty sure it’s a him.

Billy grabbed the pendant hanging from the dog’s collar while he steadied, panting in his face and trying to lick him still.

**_Bullet_ **

Bullet settled down in front, eyes alert, panting, grinning, looking around, only then did Billy let go of his collar. He struck him as exceptionally friendly, maybe because he certainly had the teeth to bite his hand off, but he hadn’t. Billy let him sniff around him, let him nudge his cold, wet nose against his fingers and sniff around him again. 

“You know your owner’s a fucking hippy, right?” Billy felt the need to ask him. “Little ironic your name is Bullet.” 

Bullet blinked up at him panted. 

Billy's face blanked. "You don't even know what I'm saying," he said flatly. "Because you're a dog." 

He stood up and looked down the hall. He looked around at the space in front of him. What the house doesn’t have in square footage, it made up for in color and clutter, lots of it. There are explosions of pink and blue and purple everywhere.

It dawned on Billy then how quiet the house was—no footsteps, no music; and then he realized, standing in the foyer of her house, that she wasn’t there.

He twisted around. His mom didn’t _go places_ before. The last time he saw her she couldn’t even step off the front porch, but she’s better, now, all that quack therapy and hippy shit must’ve worked because she isn’t here. 

“Right,” Billy’s shoulders dropped. “Right.” He chucked his bag by the door and threw his jacket over it.

Nine years of nothing but a letter and she’s not even _here_.

He laughed even though his eyes burned.

“Okay.”

If she wasn't around to stop him he was going to keep looking around. He refused to sit around and wait—he couldn't. He'd rather leave. He wanted to poke in places he shouldn't out of spite, he wanted to wreck her place, he wanted to lay on her bed. He wanted to _scream_. 

Billy walked through the to the kitchen full of more clutter and weird colors (there were labeled jars of herbs: parsley, rosemary, thyme, oregano, above the stove, a bunch of magnets on the fridge: Grand Canyon, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Zion National Park, San Francisco, and so on. A loud green and pink tie-dye curtain covered under the sink instead of cabinets), on to the living room with an old antique fireplace and ancient TV and turned around.

Bullet followed him as if he had nothing better to do, which Billy assumed he didn't because he's an animal and his mom is nowhere to be found. He followed him down the hall to the bathroom where they circled back to her bedroom.

He almost expected her to be there asleep or something. She wasn’t—the room was completely empty. The room had a lot of light with a sliding door that led out to the yard, she wasn't out there either but he could picture her there just next to door weeding a little a garden like she used to do. 

The room was very _her._

A cord of vines wrapped themselves around the exposed pipes in the ceiling and her dresser had a hand-painted landscape across the doors. The walls were white, which barely mattered with all the stuff hanging from them. The space above the bed was especially crowded with pictures. They were on display with the same fevered reverence as crosses hoarded by a southern grandma. Billy studied the pictures. He was up there, not quite in the middle of the mosaic of faces and places but close to it. He was in between his mom and man he didn’t recognize and a black and white photo of his grandparents. He’s not sure what year the photo of him was taken but he’s small, probably just old enough to be called a kid, with chubby cheek and missing front teeth.

He grimaced at the face smiling back at him. 

Most of the people on her wall he didn’t recognize. He didn’t recognize most of the places either, or the postcards or paintings. He stared at it unblinkingly like some sort of lightbulb would go off in his head until his throat started to ache with a lump and his head did the same, and he realized he knew _nothing._

“ _Fuck this_ ,” he growled. 

He had to get out of there. He opened the door diagonal to hers, next. 

It was _his_.

Billy stepped into the room slowly. His eyes roved over everything that was in it--everything that she meant to be _his._ The walls were light gray and decorated sparsely. It had all the essentials: a small desk and a chair, a bed, two large windows over it, and a closet with a mirror hanging from the door. Above his dresser hung the California state flag, tie-dyed a rainbow of colors. 

He snorted at it. Of course it was be tie-dyed; she was a fucking hippie after all. 

There's a picture of Elvis pinned to his door and a painting of blue mountains over the heater by his bed. Above the desk, pinned to the corkboard was a medal. The red, white and blue necktie led down to a gold coin. 

He grabbed it off the hook to read what it said even if he already knew: 

**_“Most Helpful ‘73_ **

**_Billy Hargrove”_ **

“Jesus,” he scoffed. “Most fucking helpful.”

_That’s nuts._

He definitely didn’t deserve it; he was an asshole as a kid too, but he was “always willing to lend a helping hand” or whatever, and they probably pitied him enough to just let him have it just to get him to shut up for once. 

It felt like eons ago, like it was a different lifetime. 

Billy tossed the medal back onto the desk and left.

He stood in the hallway, having looked at everything except the dining room. The bookshelves in that room were mostly empty and the space looked largely unused.

Bullet had gone somewhere else, in such a small house Billy had no clue where though. He tromped back into the living room and flopped onto the rusty orange couch in front of the world’s most ancient TV. He could only imagine it was here because the previous owner had left it for them, no one, not even his hoarder of a mom, would want something this old and shitty. 

Billy looked around. If it came with a remote that thing was _l_ _ong_ gone too. He got up and turned the dial, it clicked, nothing.

He turned it back, it clicked, nothing. 

A black mirror of his own reflection stared back at him. He glared at it with such an intensity, it’s only by lack of mutant powers it didn’t burst into flames like he was the little girl from Firestarter.

Billy scoffed, _why **wouldn't**_ _the TV be broken?_ He pressed his palms to his eyes and groaned.

It wouldn’t make a difference if he put his foot through the thing or not, and he knew he shouldn't. 

He wanted to, though. _Bad._

“Fine. Fuck. _Fine._ ”

Billy laid back on the ugly couch, its only redeeming quality being that it was comfortable and soft and smelled like home. He put his feet up on the armrest—with his shoes on because he owes her _nothing_ —and stared at the wood panel ceiling.

He heard Bullet’s nails clicking across the floor and his loud panting as the dog approached him with big unblinking eyes.

“I want you to know your owner’s a bitch, alright, dog?”

Bullet stared at him.

He _will not_ talk to _a dog_ like it’s a person. Crazy people like his mom did shit like that. Bullet laid down on the floor next to him. Billy kept his thoughts about that to himself, but his hand wound up on the dog’s head anyway, petting him. She used to talk to _plants,_ of all things. She brought him to the backyard garden once, when she could still make it that far out of the house and introduce him to her flowers because it was _good for them._

_This is Billy, my little sunshine,_ she would say. _He might throw a ball or two into your bushes, but he means well. Billy say hi._

And he would say hi and wave like the bushes were real people, she’d kiss his head and let him go back to whatever he was doing before that. He was too young to question why his ma thought plants were people, or if it was a hippie thing, or what was wrong with her. 

It didn’t matter back then. 

It barely mattered now.

He wasn't staying here for long one way or another. Somehow, someway, things were going to fall through. Even if Neil didn't act like it, Billy knew this all wasn't going to hold up and eventually everything would go back to his new terrible normal. He thought about warning Bullet, who seemed pretty attached to him already, of what was going to eventually happen.

But he’s not in-fucking-sane, so he didn’t.

Billy sighed. He rolled over onto his stomach, using one arm as a pillow and the other to pet Bullet. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.


	3. Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say a BIG OL THANK YOU to dayatthefandoms for beta-ing this chapter. Having a beta just makes me feel like I've done everything to make this chapter as good as I can, and I really appreciate her help. Make sure to check out her ao3 because we stan authors and artists supporting other authors and artists.

Lilly stopped at the end of the driveway, a red wagon filled with grocery bags behind her. She blinked. When she left, the garage door was open.

“ ** _Shit!”_ **

She knew this would happen. She had even left the garage door open because she _knew_ it would. He would come and she wouldn’t be there— _again._

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!” She began running towards the house. Her wagon of groceries bumped over the unpaved sidewalk, probably cracking the eggs with it. It didn’t matter at the moment. Everything could spill out over the pavement and she still wouldn’t care; her son was finally here.

She yanked the red wagon up on to the porch with her and dug around her pockets looking for the key. Everything was fighting her, time—for being so cruel and quiet she lost track of it, her fingers for being so cold and shaky, her eyes—for stinging with tears and making it hard to see. She promised herself she wouldn’t leave him alone again, but he was in there alone and it was her fault. The key slipped deeper into her pocket from between her cold, numb fingers.

She grabbed the key and jammed it into lock, “for the love of God, just work,” she hissed at the old door. 

Lilly left the wagon outside in the cold. She would come back for it later—after she saw him, after she held him, when she could think about something other than her boy. She pushed the door open with her whole weight.

"Billy?" Lilly called out into the hollow of the home. He was here, she knew it. "Billy?" She turned out of the foyer and went through the kitchen to the living room. Somehow, Lilly knew he was over there. “Billy?” She said, quieter this time, because now she could _see_ him. 

He was turned away from her, but it was him. 

His jaw was chiseled without a sign of baby fat, he had the hint of a mustache and the broad shoulders of a boy becoming a man. The teenager on her couch was a testament of how much time she had missed, and all she could do was smile to keep from crying.

Billy’s palm was pressed up to his eye; the other one was barely open but looking at her. He must’ve been asleep because the side of his face was lined with indents and his hair was flat to his temple. He turned to look at her with both eyes and stared without saying a word.

He’d gotten so tall and handsome and he’d grown up all without her.

“I’m sorry,” Lilly blurted out. In her mind, they were the only right words to say. “I went to the store. I wasn’t sure what time you were going to get here I thought…,” she swallowed down the rest of it. “I don’t know what I—I’m sorry.” 

Billy didn’t immediately recognize the woman in front of him as his mother. His mom was fragile and made of jagged edges barely concealed. This woman is radiant and healthy. Her skin is golden. Her hair is yellow like flowers. Her eyes were lovely and soft and concentrated on him were brimming with tears. They match each other—startlingly blue irises framed by thick, long lashes, the same stub of a nose, and freckles.

She was still pretty, though. So pretty.

Billy walked towards her.

It was all like waking up from a bad dream. He was told he was never going to see her again, but she was here anyway like ‘never coming back’ and ‘gone forever’ was just a bad dream. He thought he was never going to hear her voice or see her face again.

His eyes started to fill with tears that spilled onto his cheeks.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Lilly repeated. It was heavier this time, she was looking at him with such deep, sad eyes he knew that she wasn’t talking about the store anymore.

He tried to swallow again and choked. He nodded instead. _Yes, I understand._

"Can I…hug you?”

Billy shifted and leaned towards her with arms out. He wavered like a ship bending to the current of the ocean.

“Yes?” She asked. 

He nodded, slow at first and then vigorously. 

It didn’t matter that he was more than a full head taller than her or that he smelled like cigarette smoke and the worst kind of cologne. It was Billy. Her baby. Her sunshine.

He melted into her, fingers curling into the back of her jacket, warm tears bleeding into her shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” She whispered. He swayed and she swayed with him until she was afraid she was going to put him back to sleep. His fingers tightened their grip on her shirt as if he could pull her any closer.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” she repeated, her fingers curled up into the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s gotten so long and the color’s changed too.

She could hold him like this forever. It’d only be fair for her to hold him for as many years as she was gone to make up for all of it even if she knew she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Billy nodded into her shoulder. He sniffled. “I’m so so sorry, sunshine. I’m sorry.” A few more silent seconds passed by. “Are you falling asleep on me?”

It took Billy a moment to answer. “No,” he croaked softly. “You can let go of me now.”

“I know.” Lilly held him for a few more seconds anyway. “I left the groceries outside,” she said. “After this I’m going to get them…,” she quickly added, “but after this.”

When she pulled away Billy avoided looking at her, instead, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Billy sniffled and rubbed his nose too. He could see the dark stain of tears on the shoulder of her jacket from the corner of his eye.

“Are you okay?” She peered up at him with the softest features, more kind than he’s seen directed at him in a long time. But it was _her_ and she was always good to him even when she wasn’t she kind of was. “Billy,” her hands lifted to cup his face, feeling the slight stubble against his fingers, his warm cheeks, and his tears. She rubbed at them with the side of her thumbs. “Look at me, sunshine.”

He did…reluctantly. Her eyes were red too. He had forgotten his mom wasn’t a fan of makeup. She hated the smell and she hated the way it felt. If she was like every other woman around her age, there’d be black tracks running down her face he was sure.

There are always those black tracks when girls cry.

Her fingers smoothed the hairs that had been flattened from sleeping and he let her. “Hi.” A smile broke out across her face, it lit up into her eyes, into the new laugh lines on her face and wrinkles near her eyes. She laughed. “You look like you just woke up?”

Billy’s voice wouldn’t work. He swallowed and tried to breathe. He nodded again over talking.

“Were you alone long?” She asked. Her eyes were guilty, one of her fingers slipped between her teeth to bit at it. 

He bristled at the question. “No,” Billy said automatically. He might’ve been. He looked outside and it was dark, but when he got here it was barely light outside. It was hard to tell now just how long he’d been on his own. She used to be so paranoid about that stuff and used to think he’d die from being alone for more than a half-hour. He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t feel like long. “A half-hour, I guess? I was asleep.”

He waited for her to do something—to lose it, maybe.

She sucked in a breath and nodded as if the worst of it was almost over. She hummed thoughtfully. “At least you slept through it, I would’ve been a wreck,” she said.

Billy didn’t want to mention that he was late by over an hour and she probably was if he knew her like he used to.

“You got here alright though? You didn’t get lost?” She said. “I was worried about that, this road is kinda off in the middle of nowhere.”

“No, ma.” He felt little again. She used to ask him those kinds of questions all the time when he was little, brushing his hair from his face, curling the tips between her fingers. He found his voice. It was broken but there. “I met your dog. He’s big.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “My—Oh!” She chuckled. “Yeah, Bull.” She looked like she’d completely forgotten about Bull or where he even was. “God, yeah, I hope he didn’t scare you. He’s all bark and no bite I promise. He’s like a King Shepherd. Those always end up turning out huge, I—never mind, the history of the dog isn’t important to you.”

He laughed and she laughed causing more tears to leak from the corners of their eyes. “Not really,” Billy said. 

“I’m nervous,” she admitted. “You’re so tall and…muscle-y,” she poked at his bicep and wrinkled her nose like she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. The same way she used to wrinkle her nose at something that tasted just a little off.

She shrugged and smiled. Billy snorted. “I don’t care, it’s still you,” her hands dropped to hold his in hers.

It got quiet again. 

She peeled at her lip with her teeth while Billy looked down at their hands. The silence wasn’t comfortable the way it used it was stifling and heavy with years of distance. Lilly didn’t know what to say.

You wanna help me put the groceries away?” She asked softly. “I can show you around the kitchen too.” Billy looked out of the living room toward the front door, away from her. It’s been years since they went outside together even just to get groceries. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she added quickly after when he didn’t say anything immediately.

“I’ll help,” he said, absently.

He thought of the medal hanging in his room.

“Okay, sunshine,” she let go of his hand and patted the front pocket of her jacket. She handed him a tissue. “It’s cold enough to freeze those tears onto your face.”

Billy squirmed at the mention of them and quickly wiped his face with it. Lilly watched him with a small frown but didn’t say anything or give him an idea of why.

“C’mon, I think the milk’s probably frozen solid by now,” she said with a small laugh. Billy’s lip twitched; he followed her back through the house.

He was expecting to see another car in the driveway when they got to the front door, but there wasn’t. Just the cotton candy blue Volkswagen under its tarp and a little red wagon full of groceries on the porch. Billy looked at it and then her, “you didn’t…walk to store, right, ma?” He asked.

“No, I hitched a ride, pretty good way to meet people actually.” She handed him one of the heavier bags and grabbed the others before kicking the wagon back into the house.

Billy followed behind her again, standing with a bag of groceries wrapped around each hand and his eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t have a license anymore because you wanted to _meet people_?”

“No! God, no I’m not that crazy. I lost it.” He could hear it in her voice that she wanted him to relax. That this wasn’t a big deal. “I never got another one, but I intend to soon. I don’t want you having to drive me around everywhere all the time.”

“Oh,” Billy said.

His ma walked around him to the wardrobe next to the door. “This is the coat closet, by the way, there are hats, scarves, gloves in there.” Lilly turned around to look at him pointedly with one eyebrow arched. “Things you should be wearing.”

“I run hot.”

It didn’t have any of the charm he would usually offer with a sentence like that. He couldn’t. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure why he said it. He wasn’t trying to get on her good side.

He wasn’t sure what he was trying to do.

His ma stared at him for a moment with her lips pursed and her eyebrows furrowed. It was the closest expression she had to ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ without actually saying the words. 

“ _What?_ ” he said too quickly. She probably knew he didn’t know why he’d said it either. He felt stupid. He felt small.

Her face softened again. Maybe she could sense it too. The idea of that made heat rise in his cheeks and his fist clench around the woven grips of the grocery bags. “Don’t worry about it, sunshine,” she said. “Just wear some layers before you get frostbite, that’s all.”

She had those sickeningly sweet eyes on him like she was debating bundling him up herself next time he goes out. He wasn’t sure if he should put it past her.

“Okay,” he said finally.

Lilly picked up her bags again and went to the kitchen table to drop them off. Billy did the same. She made a point of making sure he knew where all the plates and cups while they put the groceries away together.

Billy listened, watching her as he did so as they fell into a rhythm that felt so familiar it hurt. It didn’t feel like she’d even ever left.

Do you have any dinner ideas?” She asked while storing a bag of frozen corn.

Billy hadn’t forgotten how she cooked every meal, and then some days—on bad days—she cooked nonstop. He’d come to school with lunch bags to give out to the kids that didn’t have any just because his ma couldn’t stop. He was afraid of what would happen if she did. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Nothing from Bradley’s Big Buy.”

“What?” Her eyes were big and attentive like Billy hadn’t just been bitching about Susan’s food but actually offering up something useful.

“Nothing,” he froze. “Just uh...,” he coughed. “Nothing from a box...alright?”

Her face twisted up in a way that reminded him of Max whenever he said something that really got under her skin. Usually, he’d consider that face a win. “Jeezus, when did I ever give you anything out of a box except cereal?”

It didn't feel like a win. He shrugged and focused on putting the sugar away instead to avoid looking at her, a flush high on his cheeks. “I dunno ma, it’s not like I—"

“It was a rhetorical question, sunshine. _Relax_ ," her voice was soothing and playful

He stared at her.

 _Relax._ As if he could. As if he _should._ She looked at him as she wasn’t gone _for years,_ face lit and bright. He didn’t feel like she’d been gone that long either, but _he_ knew it. It was clawing around in his insides, making his muscles tight and it hard to swallow.

Her smile faded slowly. “It’s okay, Billy. I was just messing with you.”

There was a dent in the cardboard from how tightly he was holding it. “Yeah. Yeah, I know," he said quietly. 

She took back her woven bags and folded them neatly before placing them under the sink. “I’m gonna start working on dinner. In the meantime, you should unpack, sweetheart. Your favorite flavor’s still red, right?” 

“ _Huh_?”

He was afraid she’d lost it already and she was ‘tasting colors.’

“Red,” she said, like ‘no duh, Billy, are you an idiot?’ Like the flavor 'red' was supposed to mean something to him. He wasn’t going to be a know-it-all like the Henderson kid and say ‘red’ wasn’t a flavor, but he wanted to.

She sighed, exasperated. “C’mon, Billy, _red_ ,” she repeated. “Ketchup, strawberries, cherries, bell peppers, Twizzlers, red apples, hot sauce,” his ma listed on. “You know, all the food you used to _love_ eating.” 

“Oh.” He had forgotten about that...but ‘red’ still isn’t a flavor. 

“I’m making something spicy and red,” she paused. “If you still like all those food...taste buds change as you grow, actually. It's okay if you don't.” 

His haven’t, apparently. “Oh,” he said again. “Yeah. Yeah, I like...red."

“Good!” She chirped. “I know what I’ll be making us for dinner then, and it _won’t_ be out of a box.” Her eyes twinkled, there was a smile on her face that lit up every inch her. He tried to act like it wasn't unusual to see. “You’re free to roam, sunshine, and unpack your stuff too,” she said with a little wave of her hand. “The house is yours…mostly.” He liked the sound of that, of being alone with nothing but a task. He nodded and she stared at him. “You gonna be okay by yourself?”

Billy tried not to scoff. What did she think was going to happen? He'd get lost in his duffel bag? “I’ll be fine.”

“Alrighty then,” she said. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, she couldn’t stop smiling. She wouldn’t.

He grabbed his jacket and threw it on; he popped the collar too to fight off the cold.

He was pretty sure he decided snow sucks and he could spend the rest of his life without it. His hands felt frozen instantly and his lips turned chapped. Billy lit a cigarette and took a long drag and stared out at Hawkins’ dead woods, its frozen dead grass, and the snow drifting down in lazy loops.

He can’t believe he had to move here.

He can’t believe she moved here.

She's here with him.

Billy held the smoke in his lungs until it burned, until his eyes watered and tears brought on by the burning sensation and the cold fell from his eyes. He didn’t move. Out in the middle of nowhere, no one can see him.

He trudged out further into the cold when his fingers felt so frozen he could barely hold onto his cigarette, until his skin ached so badly he could feel it screaming. He grabbed his stuff from the trunk of the Camaro and went back inside with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys!!!!  
> p.s. this chapter put me through the wringer (can you tell?) WHEW!


	4. Have your Cake and Eat it Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Billy tries to be tough but he isn't.

_“I…I like the colorful clothes you wear. And the way the sunlight plays upon your hair…”_ she hummed. 

Billy stared at her, wondering if his ma knew he was there or not. She used to always know when he was lingering, but she might be rusty now. His ma was wrapped up in cooking just like she used to be, lost in her own little world as usual.

It was like she never left. 

Maybe, in her head, she hadn’t or something. 

Billy stood there, rooted to spot, heart beating too fast, mouth dry, because she was here and he had nothing else to do and she was _humming_ without a care in the world. 

The smell reminded him of pulling on his ma’s skirt, mouth open like a baby bird and smiling. He was her ‘utensil sorter,’ her ‘helpful little man,’ her ‘official taste tester,’ and loved every second of it. 

It was always fun.

Everything always tasted good.

Even the vegetables. 

Bull lumbered up beside him, nails clicking over the hardwood, and walked past him to sit obediently by his ma. 

“You’re having dessert today,” she said to him, as if the dog were a small child. The same sweet, warm voice she used to use talking to him. “No more chicken, big guy.” She pulled the pan out the oven and turned both it and the stovetop off. 

On her bad days, she cooked nonstop. He would go to school with six lunch bags sometimes; he always ended up giving them out to the kids that didn’t have any, and the teachers always approved of that so no one minded. And no one ever asked why he had six lunches in the first place. And no one knew he used to be afraid of what would happen if she stopped.

How long was it going to be before she did that again? 

“And Billy," she said, without missing a beat, as if she knew he had been there the whole time. "If you want, you’re welcome to grab the lemonade out of the fridge and pour our glasses.”

Billy immediately did as he was told, just happy to finally have a task. Finally, something to get him out of his head. He grabbed the large pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge and filled up their glasses.

Billy set the glasses down opposite of each other. “You can sit. Dinner’ll be plated in a minute.” 

Bull was still hovering around her but went over his way when as soon as he sat down. He nosed at his lap, laid his big, canine head there, looking up at him with those big black eyes of his. 

“He must really like you,” his ma said. “He’s pretty fond of strangers but it takes a minute for him to warm up to them like that. You must be special.” 

“Must be,” Billy muttered absently, though not really believing her. He petted his head and smoothed over ears, Bull seemed more than content to just sit there and allow it. 

_Good boy_. 

“I think he knows we’re related,” she said while spooning green beans onto each plate. “Either that or he thinks there’s something wrong with you.” 

“Huh?” Billy’s brows furrowed. 

“He gets like that around people who he thinks are upset--all cute and cuddly, like he’s trying to cheer them up,” his ma explained. “He’s the smartest dog I’ve ever seen. Sometimes I think there’s a person trapped in there.” 

Billy looked down at Bull’s big black eyes that now seemed intrusive. He grimaced at him. 

“Or he could really just like you,” she added quickly after. 

“Uh huh,” he muttered.

“I’m gonna go fill up his bowl and wash my hands and then it’ll be chow time,” she said. His ma vanished into the living room with a bag of dog food.

Billy stared at the two plates sitting by the sink. Whatever it was it was cheesy and not red, but orange. It was that sat steaming next to the green beans. The smell of it wafted to him, made him realize how hungry he actually was, made him remember for the millionth time how good he used to eat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had dinner and Neil wasn’t there or going to be there soon. 

But it was going to be like that for the next two weeks. 

He wasn’t going to have to deal with any of them. 

“You okay?” His ma asked. Her eyes were kind of wide and her eyebrows furrowed. 

_She really was that golden now,_ he thought. She had a sincere gleam in her sea-blue eyes, flecked with gold. The look on her face used to make him feel like he could tell her anything. It made him feel like he was right where he was supposed to be and everything was going to end up just fine. 

He didn’t feel like that this time. 

“I--I’m fine,” Billy muttered, instinctually. He picked at the peeling on the wooden table. The movement tipped it toward him slightly. 

Billy remembered she also used to suck at hiding her expressions. He remembered the murderous looks she would shoot his old man without a thought, she couldn’t cover them even when she tried. The look on her face said: 

_That’s bullshit, William._

The feeling made his skin itch. He felt his cheeks heating up slightly. Suddenly, he got why he could get mad at her without her ever saying a word. 

He glared back at her. “ _What?_ ” He snapped. 

“Nothing,” she said slowly. “Nothing, sunshine.” His ma stared at him for a few more seconds and smiled—peachy. “You’re probably starving,” she said. “I made buffalo chicken pasta bake with green beans. I made something for dessert but that’s a surprise. Just don't fill up too much on dinner," she added, finishing up each plate. 

Lilly cut into her mound of pasta, when Billy didn’t, she looked up at him. “You know you can eat, right? I’m not really a saying grace kind of girl if that’s what you’re waiting for. Although, I wouldn’t be upset if you wanted to thank the chicken that ended up headless for this meal.” 

Billy grimaced. “I think I’m good.” 

She shrugged, lifting a forkful into her mouth. “Okie dokie.” 

“ You know,” she chuckled to herself. Her teeth biting just a little into her lip to keep from bursting with what must be something truly hilarious to her. She had his plate and hers on one arm (which he used to try to do and always ended up dropping them as a kid). “I promise I’m not trying to annoy you, but I’ve gotta ask...” 

“Sure,” he said. “Ask a way.” Billy’s nail scratched absently at the finish on the table. 

“How do you eat with those pants on?” She chuckled again. “I mean, they’re just so... _tight._ ” 

Billy looked at her, unimpressed. 

“I’m just wondering!” His ma held up her hands in surrender, turned around to grab the pitcher of lemonade still sitting by the sink. “I guess you just get used to it though, right? Over time?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“I wouldn’t know. I’m more of a skirts and dresses person, always have been,” she said.“I used to feel bad when all my girl friends were wearing jeans. It just never appealed to me,” she said. 

“Yeah.” 

Billy dug into his food. 

It’s been _so_ long.

He missed being fed well and missed not having to fend for himself half the time. He missed things that tasted like stuff, especially when he didn’t have to pay for himself. He missed it so much and he was _so so hungry_ and it tasted so good he wanted to cry. 

It was spicy and homemade and _free_. He always found that free food tasted better than food that wasn’t.

He was eating like a damn animal and he didn’t care; he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. Even the green beans, the _afterthought,_ tasted like a dream _._

“I’ll remember to keep the fridge stocked.” She laughed behind her hand, her eye wrinkled with it. “Jesus, Billy.” 

He thought about eating slower like she was but it’s not like he gets to eat _good food_ every day, and it doesn’t look like she gives much of a shit either. 

“‘M just really hungry. I missed lunch.” 

Lilly, however, was under the impression this would be the new normal for few days; Billy scarfing down food like he hasn’t had any in weeks. He was a teenage boy after all.

“Uh-huh,” she said, watching him.

“What is this stuff anyway?”

“Buffalo chicken pasta bake,” Lilly chirped proudly. “Chicken slathered in buffalo sauce, thrown into pasta and baked in an oven.”

It sounded like a lot; it sounded like more effort than anything he’s eaten in the last nine years.

Because it was.

“Cool,” Billy said with his mouth full.”

“What does…” she paused. Her eyes squinted shut, “don’t tell me, _don’t tell me._ I’ll remember her name in a minute…” 

Billy waited impatiently. Who ma?” he said after a beat. But she kept him waiting anyway.

“The new Mrs. Hargrove,” she said with her eyes squinted shut. “It’s not Mary, and it’s not Beth--” 

“Susan.” 

“Susan!” She slapped her hand on the table. “Why did you tell me? I was going to get there!” 

“You weren’t even close,” Billy said, grinning.

“She has a boring name. I was listing boring names! I was on the right track!” His ma paused again, thinking. “Although, I do like the name Beth, you were gonna be a Bethany...possibly. I had a lot of possible names for you.”

Billy’s nose wrinkled. 

For starters, he didn’t need to know that. 

He could’ve been doomed from birth with a name like that. Bethanys are always either total beach blonde bombshells or a freakish monster of glasses, pinched noses and buck teeth. 

“Anyway,” she said with a wave of her hand. 

Billy was wondering why she even cared. He assumed it was like, a _woman_ thing. She can’t actually swap recipes with Susan so he’s the next best thing. “Yeah,” he nodded, inhaling his food. “Stouffers, nuggets, frozen vegetables. Stuff like that,” he spoke again with his mouth full. 

"This is good then, right?” She was smirking like she knew without a doubt in her mind that it was. He remembered seeing it on her face when he was younger, the same question while she held a spoon of whatever she was making for him to taste. He knew that from other places too—he’d seen it in his reflection.

Her smirk.

Her face.

“Yeah,” Billy slowed down. “It’s good.”

Her face lit up. The smirk grew into a grin just like it always used to. “Good,” she said, pleased with herself. “Would you be okay if we had the leftovers again for dinner tomorrow?” She paused, looking at the plate he’d just refilled. “ _If_ we have leftovers.”

Billy froze. 

“What?” 

A cold trickle seeped through his stomach. They only had leftovers when she was going somewhere. “Where are you going?” He wished it sounded more like ‘there’s nowhere to go in this shit stain of town’ but it didn’t, it sounded like ‘please, please, please don’t go already.’ 

She stared at him in that way that made him feel like he was made of glass and see-through. His ma’s eyebrows pulled tightly together, she frowned,“…work? I’m just working late tomorrow, that’s all, sunshine.”

“I mean if we don’t have leftovers, you could order a pizza or something, or you could make something, obviously, I just—” 

The beat of his heart slowed and it all caught up with him. She wasn’t leaving him, she had to go to work. "You _work_?” Billy blurted out.

She stopped rambling and blinked. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, _duh_ , how do think we’re in a house? I got myself a regular ol’ eight to four-thirty job down at Melvald’s. _And_ I even get Saturdays off. _Cool_ , right?" she said. She was beaming like she was _so_ proud of herself. And she probably was, Billy remembered she wanted a job when he was younger or at least a “real job” since dog watching and baking from home weren’t that.

Billy nodded slowly. He felt a little heartless all of a sudden. It was the same feeling he got when Tiffany showed off her cast and told him she broke her leg and he didn’t bother to ask how. 

In his defense, it wasn’t like a broken leg was sexy or anything. 

“Congrats,” Billy said belatedly. 

“Thank you! You’ll get used to it, hopefully.” She talked with a smile. “And, like I said, I get off at four-thirty, so I’ll be home in the afternoon every day…except Tuesdays and Wednesdays because I have pottery on Tuesdays and I volunteer on Wednesdays. I mean, I’ll be home on those nights but not the _whole_ night, you know?”

Billy smirked, mostly in disbelief. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I get it, ma.”

She had a whole fucking life with a dog and a job and clubs and probably even friends—that’s why he barely recognized her or this or anything she’s said since she came in. She was _happy_. She was somehow happy in the piece of shit state that was Indiana and he…he was his old man’s punching bag and Max’s chauffeur.

She had been perfectly happy without him, and now she’s perfectly happy with him as if he’s some kind of added bonus. It stung and it burned, aching into his chest and spreading throughout the rest of his body.

“Are you done?” Lilly pointed at his plate with her fork. “I was gonna get dessert out of the fridge we’re celebrating.” 

Billy snorted. He couldn’t help it, he had to know what _exactly_ were they celebrating. Their first dinner without his old man? One nice dinner to make up for all the missed birthdays? The fact that she _left_ and now they’re back together?

When she looked up at him, she frowned. “What? You’re making a face?”

Was he? 

Probably. 

He knew exactly what it looked like, maybe because he got it from her or maybe because he’s seen what he looks like when he’s standing too close to his old man and he could see it in the reflection of his eyes. It was all anger, fear, pain, shame, spilling over. 

“Nothing,” Billy said. 

It was all so perfect. 

It _hurt._

Billy tensed as her hand slid over his, cool and rough and small against his own. “Billy--” 

He pulled his hand from hers. “What’re we celebrating, exactly, ma?” 

As if she knew exactly what he meant, she froze. Her laugh was nervous and jittery, her back turned to him. “I guess celebrating isn’t the right word.” She had one plate in each hand, placing one in front of him. She sat down across from him. His ma had that big-eyed look again, painfully guilty, with a deep breath, it disappeared and was replaced with something calm. Lilly took the plate in front of him, stacking it atop her own. She wasn’t looking at him now.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t happy like this the whole time, you know?” She whispered. “In case you ever thought that.”

Billy scoffed. “But you got there eventually, didn’t you,” he said. _You got there all on your own, pretending I didn’t exist_ is what he meant.

And she knew so because she was clever, and she understood him. Lilly froze. Her back turned to him. She breathed shakily, “not for a really long time and not on my own. Not without you. You never left me,” she said.

Billy watched her hand raise and rub across her eyes. Her shoulders shook and stilled. She sniffled. She wiped at her face again.

He had made her cry.

He’d never done that before. There was a side of him that knew before this he would’ve never, _ever_ wanted to. 

It served her right.

He didn’t owe her anything.

Billy swallowed. She wasn't as tough as he remembered. He thought of the woman that had thrown a plate at Neil and knew they weren't the same anymore.

“Serves me right, I guess,” she laughed bitterly.Lilly wiped away the remainder of her tears and went over to the fridge. She grabbed a canister of whipped cream and filled a small cup to the brim and carried it over to Bull. “What would you rather us call it?” 

Billy faltered. 

You making dessert to apologize. 

You making dessert to make up for leaving me.

You making dessert to make me feel better about the amount of bullshit I’ve gone through. 

Billy stared back at her, vitriol slowly seeping out of him. He opened and shut his mouth.

“Can we call it a start...maybe?” She asked, not exactly with the same big eyes, but something soul-piercing and gentle.

He hated this. He hated that he nodded so quickly. He hated that he wanted it to be. He wanted it to be a start _so so_ badly. 

“We’ll call it a start then,” she said with a faint smile. “I don’t expect you to forgive me immediately...or maybe ever and sugar’s not going to fix that and I know that, but I still wanted to do this for you, okay?” She paused. “Is that okay?” 

No. 

No, it wasn’t. 

Billy nodded. 

She went back for the two more glass cups already in the fridge filled with strawberries and whipped cream and little cake. Billy had forgotten what they were called, but it was his favorite.

Of course, it was.

“Anyway, I’m not letting these go bad so…,” she said, putting one in front of him. She spooned into hers, cutting into the cake and eating some. “Bon appetit.”

“Yeah,” Billy watched her, his enthusiasm—or lack thereof—matching hers. “Sure, ma.” He ate some of the small dessert. It tasted just like he remembered tart and sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading to the end!!! :) Steve FINALLY shows up next chapter thank GOD


	5. Joyce and Steve

The coffee on her lips was cold. Joyce grimaced and turned to the microwave, 000 blinked back at her and she groaned. The fridge they _had_ to replace—it was not negotiable—it had one of those…those _things_ crammed into the freezer.

Oozing.

Dead.

Awful.

But the microwave was nothing short of a betrayal.

“Oh, c’mon,” she groaned. She set her _not_ steaming hot cup of coffee down, smacked the damn thing a few times, and pressed all the buttons indignantly with her fingers...and nothing. “Seriously? _Come on._ ”

“Is the microwave broken?” Will asked from behind her. He was dressed and disheveled, he looked tired as always but awake. In his hands, he was holding a box of Eggos—their chosen breakfast for today.

“No,” Joyce gritted, jostling it. “Just use the toaster for those, sweetie. Jonathan’s up?” They both know there’s a difference between Jonathan being _awake_ and Jonathan being _up._

“Yup.”

“Good.

So maybe _all_ of them will leave on time today. It’d be nice to start the week off on time for once, she thought.

Will kept himself busy and quiet sticking his breakfast into the toaster and putting the syrup and butter in the middle of the table for their breakfast. Joyce watched him, she was sure he knew he was being watched but it came from a place of love and concern.

So much concern sometimes she looked at him and felt like she couldn’t breathe.

It would be nice for things to feel normal this week. She knew they wouldn’t—not for a long time.

The phone rang seconds after Joyce gave up smacking the microwave, pressing its buttons and then jostling it. It was time to start saving for a new one it seemed. Will buttered his Eggos, Jonathan simply had one sticking out of his mouth.

“Phone’s ringing,” Jonathan said, his words muffled. He moved to answer it. 

“No, go eat, I’ve got it,” Joyce said, shooing him from the phone. 

Jonathan gave her a weird look and shrugged, sitting down next to Will. Joyce set down her coffee and went to pick up the phone. No one really ever calls anymore and most of the people that do they end up just hanging up on. Except Hopper, it’s probably, Hopper. 

Jonathan and Will shared a look, Will also shrugged. 

It wasn’t like she _meant_ to get so invested in her neighbor’s life. Invested probably isn’t the right word. She just cared a lot, and she kept calling her, the poor woman, she was completely new in town and clueless about everything.

And her son.

 _Oh,_ that was a whole _other_ story. The separation, the move, how much she absolutely _adores_ him. It was like watching a soap. Joyce held the phone up to her ear, hoping for good news. “Is he there?” she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“He came in yesterday afternoon,” Lilly said, she could hear the relief in her voice. 

“YES!” She punched through the air and turned to look at both Jonathan and Will who look unappreciatively startled. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed to the boys and went around the corner with the phone. 

Lilly arrived at Melvald’s General Store two weeks before Christmas, just in time to train her before the holiday rush. Between taking care of Will and keeping their torn-apart home together, she was in over her head. When she found out they were neighbors, the least she could do was offer the woman a ride since more often than not they had similar hours.

She hadn’t expected to make friends with her; she didn’t exactly have friends. You don't really make friends in a town like Hawkins where everyone's known each other for years unless you throw yourself into some sort of activity. 

And Joyce just never had the time.

Of course, she gets along well with Karen, Claudia and Kendra, but those are her son’s friend’s mothers. She doesn’t go out with them.  
She doesn’t have time to go out with any of them, she's not even sure if they _do_ go out together or if she just imagines they do.  
And besides, she doesn’t have time to go out.  
Sometimes she’s envious of that fact, but it meant spending time with her boys and being home. They're the lights of her life, so she stomps it down.  
That’s probably why she and Lilly get along so well. She has a son that she cherishes, that she would do anything for, and Joyce understands that perfectly. 

She understands that.

  
“ _So_?” Joyce asked. She could picture Lilly twirling the phone cord around her fingers, she does it so often at work that Joyce would assume she does it at home too.

“I mean, he _stayed,_ so that’s good,” Lilly said with a short laugh. 

Joyce frowned. Her eyebrows pulled together and her lips pursed. “You didn’t really think he’d up and leave?” 

Lilly made a noncommittal sound on the side. “You just never know,” she said defensively. “But he didn’t so, small miracles I guess,” she said, and then added, “I’ll tell you about it when you pick me up. I _actually_ called--” 

Joyce rolled her eyes and huffed a laugh, “because you have a question.” 

“Bingo, Ringo,” Lilly sang. She laughed nervously again, if she hadn’t been doing the phone cord twirl she surely was now. Joyce was pretty sure she was one of the most fidgety people she’d ever met. 

“Shoot,” Joyce said. 

“Okay, I now _realize_ I should’ve asked this last night, or yesterday, or any time but now, but I have _no_ idea what time he should be getting up,” Lilly said. 

_Oh._

Joyce grimaced, she arched her back to look at Jonathan and Will—dressed and mostly done eating and spoke, “now. Now would be an _excellent_ time to wake him up considering Jonathan and Will have been up for a little over half an hour.”

“Oh, well, _shit._ ”

Joyce tried not to laugh.

“In that case, thanks for answering my question. I’m gonna go… _now_ ,” she said. “Thanks, again, Joyce, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it. See you soon,” she hung up. Joyce’s head bowed for a moment in order to keep her smile small—it didn’t last long. The microwave was still broken, she still had no clue where her car keys were, and they had to get to work soon.

“Who was that?” Jonathan asked as she hung the phone back up. He and Will were seated at the table eating.

“The neighbor,” she said casually. “You know the lady that moved down the street?”

Jonathan hadn’t met her, but Will was the one that opened the door when she came by with cookies of all things. Since then, he’d seemed to take a liking to her, Joyce was sure it had something to do with her general air of kindness around her or the invitation she offered to Will. 

He was welcome to come over and paint and play with her dog whenever he wanted to. He seemed to have really appreciated the offer, maybe not with many words, but she had seen it in his eyes.

“Ms. O’Rourke?” Will answered, perking up slightly.

“Yeah. She called to ask what time her son should get up for school,” Joyce said, trying not to laugh. 

Jonathan and Will looked at each other, presumably, at their nearly empty plates and the fact that they’re both completely dressed. They were more than likely going to be a bit early, but they’d be leaving in the next five minutes or so.

Jonathan snorted into his cup of orange juice. “Well, good luck to that guy, I guess.” 

Joyce was tempted to ask if Jonathan knew Lilly’s son by any chance, they were the same age after all and probably in the same grade. He probably wouldn’t. He was like her—nice enough to people, but an outsider looking in. He probably has no idea. It was only by way of a small school that they would ever have a chance of knowing each other. 

She sighed, “you have no idea.” 

* * *

“ _Way to go, you’re doing great_.” Lilly muttered under her breath. She stopped outside of Billy’s bedroom door. She knocked, saying it as she did.

“You up?” 

She heard a grunt close enough to an ‘yes.’ 

“Can I come in?” She asked. 

Another grunt. 

“Still not a morning person, huh?” She asked as she pushed the door open. 

He made a non-committal sound without looking at her. 

Her eyes went first to her dog curled up on Billy’s bed, _like two peas in a pod already._ She did a brief pan of Billy, a pair of tight black jeans, a plain grey shirt tucked into his jeans, and a silver hoop standing out amongst a forest of golden curls. 

Just like yesterday. It occurred to Lilly then that this is how he _always_ dresses.

Billy’s back was to her. He had taken the mirror off the closet door and instead had it propped up against the wall. Their eyes met through it.

"What?”

No, ‘good morning’. No, ‘I slept good.’ Not even an ‘I’m hungry, what’s for breakfast?’ Just, “ _what?_ ” 

She smiled tightly. Definitely still not a morning person. “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re awake already. It’s late,” she paused. “And you’re going to be too cold dressed like that.”

She decided she didn’t really like the outfit at all. It made her feel old, looking at her own son’s clothes and disliking them so much. She’s pretty sure her mom did the same thing. She watched his eye twitch in the mirror.

Billy stared at her furtively. “I’m not gonna be outside for long anyway.” He stood up straight and turned to look at her, every bit of him screamed _challenge me._ Lilly looked at him and then down at the flannel, acting unimpressed like he hadn’t raised half the hair on her neck to high heaven. “That’d be nice,” she sighed. Lilly tilted her head towards it. “Just layer it under your jacket until you get inside.”

“Don’t need it,” Billy said immediately, borderline petulantly.

“It was only a suggestion. It’s going to be colder today than it was yesterday,” she said lightly. His ma kept looking at him, her bright blue eyes darting all over his face like she’s looking for something again. Billy challenged it with a glare, it’s not fun being _examined._

Her hands rose to her hips, not so much as a threat, but more so like she was sturdy-ing herself. “You know, you’ve still got time for breakfast if you eat quick. You’re always grouchy when you don’t eat. You don’t want to go to school like that, right?” One of her eyebrows rose in question.

She was pulling some serious Jedi mind trick bullshit on him and he knew it. Changing the subject, distracting him. Billy moved to brush past her. He didn’t want to be late. He doesn’t have all the time in the world to stand there and glare her down until she bends, that was the _only_ reason he let her win this—whatever it was.

He’s not even _that_ hungry. 

Walking past her he caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips. It was the worst because it was _his._

He was stopped, again, by her sweet voice. “Jacket and backpack,” she said, her head jerked to both still on the floor by his bed. “You don’t want to forget those.”

Billy turned, snatching them both up in one vicious grab. Lilly heard him grumble something bitterly to himself, truthfully, she didn’t want to know what it was.

“And your lunch is in the fridge.”

Billy grunted on his way down the hall.

Lilly looked back at her dog who looked back at her unblinkingly. “Just love him, okay?” She patted her thigh and the dog followed her command, leaping off his bed. “You know you’re not supposed to be on the furniture, go on.”

Bull hurried from the room presumably going to sit somewhere else or follow Billy.

She looked at her reflection, finding she looked the same despite how much her life has changed in the last 24 hours. She tied her hair out her face and sighed.

Billy was once again shoveling down his food like an animal—standing this time. “There’s the ketchup, and a note in case you’re late,” she said. “Assuming you still like ketchup with your eggs.”

The answer she got was him dousing his plate with the aforementioned condiment to point where there was more red than yellow on his plate. Ie. An astoundingly loud _yes_. He shoved the note in his back pocket. 

“Mrs. Byers, our neighbor—”

“I know her,” he said.

Personally, the lady kind of creeped him out, like, his ma _was_ (sort of) off her rocker. Mrs. Byers _is_ off her rocker and so is her pasty firstborn, Jonathan. He wasn’t sure what to make of Will Byers, if it weren’t for the kid going missing, Billy would’ve never known his name. He probably would’ve called him ‘runt Byers’ rather than Will. Max hung out with him and from what he could tell he was the definition of the word.

He’ll cut him some slack though, the dumb piece shit did end up going missing and that’s still fucked up. 

The question of ‘what’s that got to do with anything?’ was written plainly on his face, and Lilly had to resist the urge to say: _Well if you had let me finish you would know._

“We usually carpool,” Lilly poured the rest of her peppermint tea into a teal green thermos painted with flowers and vines. “She should be here any minute.”

He nodded.

Lilly turned to look out the kitchen window to let Billy scarf down the rest of his food in peace. She was still happy to have his presence, as turbulent as it may be. 

She watched the puke green Pinto roll to a stop in the driveway. “Can you please wear something else other than that jacket? Please? At least a scarf or gloves or something. There’s a whole box of mine you can pick from and not all of them have flowers.” She looked at him with a small, knowing grin. “Not even you would look so handsome as a popsicle.”

Billy snorted, head bobbing. It was a nice appeal to his vanity, he could give her that.

“And your lunch—”

“Is in the fridge. I heard you the first time,” he finished for her. He would like to point out that he hasn’t brought a lunch since she left and that school lunches suit him just fine, but knowing her she wasn’t going to have it. 

She smiled. Billy wondered if she was always this easy to please.

“Right, because the grunt very clearly showed you were listening.” She shoved her arms into her coat jacket and grabbed her bag on the way to the door. “ _Drive slow,_ it’s icy out and you don’t have chains. I’ll be back at 5:30. Have a great day at school, sunshine, I love you.”

“…Bye,” Billy muttered, even though the front door had already shut.

* * *

Joyce hardly ever listened to the radio when Lilly was in the car, there was no reason to. She was her weather, talk show, and sometimes, her music, all in one.

“Maybe I’ll just pay you in coffee,” she joked. “That way you get something out of this. I miss making coffee, I can make a cup for you on your ride to work.”

“That doesn’t keep me from needing to get a new microwave,” Joyce said.

“Yeah, but it’s better than drinking that cold shit,” she said blatantly.

They laughed. The coffee, if you could call it that, tasted mostly like flavored water. 

“It would be n—”

“Then I’ll make some tomorrow morning, easy,” she said definitively.

“You don’t—”

“Joyce, it’s _coffee._ It’s the least I can do.” Joyce’s lips pursed at Lilly’s infallible smile. She had one of those faces that made it very hard to say no to. She could’ve been a politician or model maybe, something like that. 

“Well,” she conceded with a sigh. “If you say so.” 

_“Thank you._ ”

Joyce’s mouth shut uneasily. She wondered if her son was anything the same. From what she heard about him from her he was. Speaking of that… If it weren’t for the fact that she knew he would be coming this weekend, she wouldn’t be able to tell he’d ever arrived. 

Joyce hadn’t expected her to be tightlipped about it—good or bad—she seemed like the type that would want to talk about it. She talked about almost everything, it seemed there was no topic that would make her squirm.

Clearly, she was wrong.

“How was yesterday?” Joyce asked cautiously.

“It…,” she paused, nodding slowly. “It _went_.”

She grimaced. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good.” 

“I mean it wasn’t _bad,_ ” she said. “Just... _a lot…_ ”Lilly trailed off. “I saw him and immediately went into autopilot. I don’t remember half of the things I said to him.”

But she remembered everything he had said. Billy was crystal clear in her memory. He seemed almost painfully sharp—cut with too much precision. It was like staring into the sun. 

“I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t know how to look at him. I just _did,_ you know how you just go into, like, mom mode sometimes?”

Joyce scoffed. “You think I can turn it off?” 

“Fair point,” she said with raised eyebrows. “He’s so big now…and handsome _._ I don’t know where he got that from. He was happy to see me…I think,” she said around the nail in her mouth. Joyce looked over at her and was met with a generally nervous expression. “He used to be so easy to read. Sometimes he is...Maybe he’s angrier at me than I thought,” she said quietly.

She couldn’t possibly imagine that. 

“He was angry?” Her brows furrowed.

“I—” Lilly snapped her mouth shut. She’d almost told Joyce something she didn’t want her to know. They barely knew each other after all, and sometimes Joyce does the same thing. “He has a reason to be,” she said instead. “But he seems… comfortable...sometimes.”

_It’s just me that’s the problem._

She sighed, she scrubbed both hands across her face. “I think he just needs some space to think, he’s always been a mull-over when things are important,” Lilly said. She was convincing herself as much as she was Joyce by saying this.

Joyce looked at her. The woman has soft sympathetic brown eyes and a good soul behind them. Her lips pursed and she gave her hand a small squeeze.

“He’ll come around.” 

“I know, until then I’ll just be here, I guess,” she said. 

* * *

His ma’s a goddamn liar, all the scarves _do_ have flowers on them.

 _All of them._ He had to settle on the flannel over anything in that bin of hers. 

The flannel was red and black, a nightmarish buttondown only a hick would wear. Susan bought it for him, it was probably well-meaning. Maybe it was her own way of silently asking him to wear more than a denim jacket. 

_Who knows._

More importantly, _who cares?_

He didn’t even like it, didn’t feel like him, but it staved off the cold enough while he walked to his car and it would keep his ma off his back. 

_Cold snap,_ the guy had said on the crackling radio as he drove to school. Apparently, a cold snap, a word Billy’s never even heard before in his brief sixteen years of life, meant it was going to stay like this for like…the rest of the week and then some.

Sun’s out and it’s a _high_ of 15°F. A high meant that’s _it,_ that’s all the warmth shitty, little Hawkins, Indiana, is getting. 

Fuck the Midwest, _seriously_.

She was right again about the icy, it was only by some cruel blessing Neil had relieved him of his chauffeur duties. If he had to pick up Max too, he’d be _beyond_ late. He had to go slow, even if he didn’t want to, because _everyone_ in the podunk town of Hawkins was going slow.

Now, he’s late and all he had was his flimsy jacket, no hat, lunch box with the house key inside and ugly red flannel to show for it. His locker was nowhere near the ‘H’s because the administration had to assign him a locker wherever they could find one. He couldn’t care less about where the hick-school decided to put him, normally, but today, he wished he wasn’t so close to the office. A small queue of late students milled around inside (because ice, apparently, isn’t a good reason to be late because the roads are covered in ice for four months straight and he should ‘plan accordingly’).

Billy pretended not to notice them even though inevitably—

“Mr. Hargrove,” Mrs. Finch said. “Despite what you may think, you are not the exception to the rule.”

He has gone around with Mrs. Finch enough times to know the woman should’ve become a Nun, at least then she’d have a righteous reason to bust everyone’s balls so hard. There’s no charming her, no bribing her, nothing. The crone is colder than the fucking weather. 

So, Billy didn’t smile or say hello, he continued to look generally as perturbed by her and this school and the weather and his own goddamn _mother_ as he felt, because it really isn’t going to change anything. He slipped the note out of his back pocket and waved it.

“Got an excuse.”

She looked at him with enough suspicion that he honestly thought she was sure he was using the slip of paper as an alibi, like he’s _done something._ “I still need to mark you,” she said measuredly, she is, as cliched as it is, older than dirt. “No one comes and goes with me making a note of it.”

Billy stared down the biblically old woman. Once again, it’s only by the will of a God who _hates_ him that the old broad didn’t die of a sudden, massive heart attack.

He wished he’d smoked on the way here; maybe then he wouldn’t be ready to burst out of his damn skull. “Of course they don’t,” he sighed.

Billy trudged into the office. He was behind three people, and although he didn’t care, they’re all going to be later because of this. Mrs. Finch resumed her seat at a stained, well-worn desk and marked them tardy one by one, handing out detention slips for the poor suckers that had wrung up three without an excuse.

Billy had one and he intended to keep it that way. 

It was from the Monday after the night they don’t talk about.

His mood went even sourer.

She got to Billy eventually, taking her sweet time. She took the note in smooth, cold fingers and read it with her mouth half open, the note held away from her. Billy looked at the swooping cursive of his mother’s handwriting.

“Who wrote this?” She asked.

“My mom,” Billy droned

“She uses her maiden name?”

Billy rolled his eyes so hard they _hurt._ “She ain’t married. And trust me, I couldn’t make my handwriting that pretty even if I tried.”

Mrs. Finch glared at him over her half-moon glasses. “Is she home?”

 _For_ **_fuck’s_ ** _sake._

“No,” Billy spat out. 

“Then she’s at work?” 

“ _Yes.”_

“And where is that?” Mrs. Finch continued with the same calculated, slow speech.

Billy was tempted to say _fuck if I know, hag,_ but she _had_ told him, the knowledge wasn’t exactly useful until now. He thought back to her coming home, to dinner, to her smile that faded, and the disturbingly quiet way the night had ended.

_I got myself a regular ol’ eight to four-thirty job down at—_

It took Billy a suspiciously long time to answer, but he did, spitting it out, stuttering. “Melvald’s.”

Mrs. Finch hummed. Billy watched her scribble on the note.“You may leave now, Mr. Hargrove,” she said. 

_You_ may _kiss my ass_ , he thought.

Billy turned to leave and paused—his day just got better. Harrington, with his cockatoo-esque hair and shitty navy polo and black vest, were not hard to miss. He was doing just as Billy had before, casually walking past the office as if he wasn’t _ridiculously_ late too.

Mrs. Finch was the one that said there are no exceptions to the rule, right? Billy grinned. There are no exceptions to the rule, including Harrington. He turned, cocking an eyebrow at Mrs. Finch and asked, “does he get a free pass?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes only narrowed as her decrepit bones lifted her from her chair. Billy strolled out after her to watch Harrington get bitched out for having the _nerve_ to try to sneak past her. 

Harrington’s wide eyes switched between the irate old lady and Billy who continued to walk slow and watch with a grin on his face. His eyes, like a deer in headlights, bambi-ish at best, locked on Billy and narrowed. 

Billy waved, wiggling his fingers. 

The sentiment held in Harrington’s eyes was clear:

Fuck you, Billy Hargrove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm gonna respond to comments!!!! I know I'm a tool, but life's been busy and i'm trrrryyyyyinnngggg  
> (okay, breakdown over)  
> Thanks for reading!!! :) <3


	6. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god I had another name for this chapter that was song related but it's just COMPLETELY gone now and I'm so MAD about it....  
> Anyway, we're in the middle of what everyone is calling "confusing times." I hope y'all are doing well. I'm fine obviously, but I figured since my life is kind of at a standstill, I should pick up writing again. I am not allowed to go back to my university except to move out and at my internship, I'll be working remotely. So, what this means is I have to build my own schedule (otherwise my ADHD will consume I will fail all my classes, I will lose my internship and I will stay in bed 24 hours and watch Tik Toks), hopefully, that means I can work on this and other projects again because I can literally make own schedule now and if I want to put writing in it, now I can.  
> I'm not making any serious promises, writing as a whole has been really challenging for me the last six months in a way that it never has been before, but I have been wanting to get back into writing harringrove. I never left the fandom (although I did take a quick detour into Detroit: Become Human). Anyway, you can find me on Tumblr at manicpixietrashfire.tumblr.com if you need some harringrove pals to scream at. I hope you guys are staying safe and healthy and hopefully, this update will make your day just a little brighter! Love you guys!!!  
> -Dariary_Absentee

**EARLIER THAT MORNING…**

Steve rolled up in front the Hargrove-Mayfield’s house, no blue Camaro in sight. 

“So the son of a bitch really is gone,” Dustin said, looking out the passenger side window. His breath fogged up the frosted window. 

Steve snorted, but he was looking at the empty spot too. Of course he’s gone, otherwise he wouldn’t be here right now doing _his_ job. 

The Hargrove-Mayfield house was basically a beige nightmare, wide and unimpressive all at once. Not that he had pictured it in his head or anything. It was just _very_ Cherry Lane. The kind of house his mom would call an eyesore before accelerating past it in her Mercedes. 

“I bet he’s in prison,” Dustin said aloud, suddenly. 

“ _What_ ? No,” Steve said. “No, Max just said, he went away for a bit. So, he’s just, like, _away_ , man. Besides Max also said he’s coming back.” 

“Wish he wouldn’t,” he muttered.

They were probably the last people to know what Hargrove’s life is like. The guy’s gone, so he’s gone. _Whatever._ But there also wasn’t a single reason Steve could think of that would explain why Billy would leave in the middle of January.

“Are you gonna get out then?” 

Steve’s head rolled to look at him and realized he was serious. “It’s like _ten_ degrees outside!” He snapped. “ _No_ , I’m not going outside. Are you crazy?”

Why he volunteered to take anyone to school was really beyond him, but it probably had something to do with the fact that Dustin’s company isn’t intolerable after 9 a.m. and the fact that Mrs. Henderson is really persuasive. 

Dustin’s nose wrinkled, having clearly caught on to his BS. “I thought you said to always—” 

“I’m turning on the radio,” Steve switched the radio on. 

Clark Meyer was on, talking about a cold snap that’s going to stick around Hawkins for a week. Steve groaned aloud, switched the station until he finally found music he could stand. 

“I’m just saying, it’s icy out, man,” Dustin sighed. “You never know what could happen.” 

“Oh, for the love of—” Steve started, nearly getting out of the car.

Max was bundled up like a true Californian, a scarf, puffy parka, hat, and gloves. All Steve could see was the thin strip of skin on her face that included her eyes and her nose, glowing red like Rudolph.

She opened the door to the back seat, bringing in a bitter gust of cold air with her. “Aren’t you gonna be, like, _really_ late?” Came her muffled voice. She ripped off her scarf, glaring at it before throwing it on the floor of the car and buckling herself in. 

Steve looked at the clock on the dash. 

_Shit_.

 _Oh yeah,_ **_big_ ** _time._

Steve scoffed. “Yeah, but it’s icy, everyone’s gonna be late.” He really would’ve wished someone took one for the team and drove into a ditch finally, so the school system could learn its lesson, but whatever. 

Max shrugged as if she was thinking the same thing. _Whatever_. 

“Hey, Dustin.” 

“Hey,” he said, grinning. “Nice Michelin Man costume.” 

Steve tried to hold back his laugh. Yeah, it’s cold outside, but it’s not like, _Antarctica_ or anything. He wondered if Billy was around, wherever he is, in the same puffy coat as Max. Probably not. 

She flipped them off from the backseat.

He laughed, turning back to face front, looking real proud of himself for that one. 

Max’s lips pursed and she stared out the window back at her house. Steve followed her gaze, it hardened a little when she reached the spot where Billy’s Camaro would be. “Are we going?” 

“Oh,” he snapped out of it. “Yeah, right.”

About thirty seconds after pulling away from Max’s house, Dustin said, “So, when you say he’s _gone_ , do you mean, like _gone-gone_? How long are we psychotic dickhead free?” 

“ _Dude!”_

It wasn’t like he wasn’t wondering the same thing, but _come on_ . He wanted to at least pretend like it wasn’t that big of a deal and they hadn’t been thinking about it. Like, _come on,_ he made a point of _not_ thinking about Billy Hargrove ever and he really wanted to keep it that way.

“Oh like you didn’t want to know too,” Dustin said. “It’s _important_!” He was using that nerdy, high and mighty voice he gets sometimes, like Billy vanishing and for how long was going to change the space-time continuum or something. 

Steve grimaced. 

He shouldn’t know to think about ‘space-time continuums.’

“What is my life,” he groaned aloud. He stopped at the stop sign that opened up back on to one of the main roads in Hawkins. He looked back at Max in the rearview mirror and kept driving. She looked annoyed, if anything. 

On the one hand, if he asked then he would know, and he could stop wondering about it. And they’d all be done with it for good. 

On the other hand, it might be _super_ personal, and if there’s anything his parents taught him—in person—it was to never ask outright. Eavesdrop. It makes life _so_ much easier. At least, he used to think that way. 

But still, it _could_ be super personal.

“Okay, in all seriousness, is he dying?” Dustin asked, seriously. “Because he’s a dick bu—”

“Oh my _God, Dustin—_ ” 

“He’s not dying,” she said sharply. “He’s at his mom’s house.”

_Oh._

“He has a mom?” Dustin whipped around in his seat. “Like? An _actual_ mom, not like a she-demon that can spawn?” 

Max glared at him, unimpressed. “No, Dustin, he just grew like a plant,” she snapped. Max huffed, her arms crossed around the seat belt, in that way that kind of scared Steve. Sometimes, he’ll admit to absolutely no one, Max is scary. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” Max scoffed. She rolled her eyes, for once, not _at_ them. “His dad’s, like, mad about it or something because now they share custody, or whatever, so he’s at his mom’s house and then he’ll be back at our house in two weeks.” 

“He’s just gonna hop back between _here_ and _California_?” Steve asked. 

There’s _no_ way that was gonna work. 

“No!” Max pressed a hand to her forehead. “He’s still in Hawkins. His mom _lives_ in Hawkins. So, _he_ is at _her_ house in _Hawkins,_ ” she said like she was one more question like that away from adding ‘dunce-cap’ to the end of her sentence

He pouted. “ _Jeez,_ sorry I asked.” 

She sighed. All at once, Max seemed to deflate, her face got a little less red. She held the scarf she had discarded on the floor and wound it around her hands. “She’s why we moved here. My mom said it's so we can live near my grandparents, but we all know it was to get away from her. And then she just moved here.” She couldn’t stand to look at either of them. It felt weird to talk about Billy this way—like she was sharing a secret that wasn’t even hers. “Billy’s dad said she’s crazy.” 

“They always say that.” 

Max and Dustin’s faces both wrinkled up. “How would _you_ know?”

“Just saying, how many times has a dude called a chick crazy?” He shrugged. His dad calls his mom crazy all the time, his mom _is_ actually crazy but not because she’s mad he forgot their anniversary for the fifth year in a row.

Divorce was one of those words that sat heavy over Steve’s head since Sam Cunnigham’s parents split in the second grade and found out what it was. Whenever he had to share dinner with his parents, his mom is like ice around his dad, and he barely looks at either of them. Fuck, who even knows what or _who_ Howard Harrington cares about these days. 

Max sat back, her brows furrowed. Behind her, the morning sun was blinding over the frosted treetops. She looked like she was thinking hard. 

“Well, _I_ bet she is,” Dustin said, breaking the long silence. “He had to get it from somewhere.” 

Max didn’t crack one of her wiry smiles like she does when one of them cracks on Billy like she usually does. Steve didn’t have any siblings to get it, but he guessed that smile always meant ‘you’re right.’ She looked away when she scoffed and said, “you have no idea.” 

The rest of the ride they talked about other stuff that Steve usually tunes out—13-year-old's drama he remembers giving a shit about, it felt like eons ago, homework and tests, and nerd stuff he was sure he’d never fully understand. 

There was a lot he was pretty sure he was never going to get at this point. _Fine._ He was getting pretty used to just being on the outside, and he wasn’t going to dwell on that fact either. Especially when he was really goddamn late, at this point. Dustin and Max hopped out of his car and briskly walked over across the school’s parking lot when the bell was just ringing...the _middle_ school bell. 

That’s tardy, like, 15 for him. He was pretty sure you get a call home at like seven or something, but it didn’t matter when his dad wasn’t going to pass over much of a message or a discipline. It didn’t matter when detention didn’t mean jack to him either, but it still sucked having to sneak past Mrs. Finch who still hasn’t forgiven him for impersonating her in the hallway that time. 

How was he supposed to know she was going to end up being two feet behind him? It was bad luck, really, and besides, it wasn’t the worst thing she’s seen ‘King Steve’ do, but after that, the old bat has never hated him more. No matter how many times he’d try to smooth things over with her. It makes him that grandpa Otis used to bully her in whatever the 1900s equivalent of high school was. 

He was wondering if women could even go to high school in 1900s and the fact that he probably shouldn’t ask that _out loud_ when he walked toward the office. If there was anything he learned in life—even though it really keeps failing him these days—is to act like you know what you’re doing and everyone assumes you do. So, Steve ambled past the office, casually so, like he knew exactly what he was doing and where he was going and he wasn’t fifteen minutes late. Hargrove was in there though, his eyes occasionally snuck a look at him as he walked past. 

He’s glaring down at the little old lady. Billy is an electric livewire. The school day hadn’t even started yet, and he was tipping toward nuclear. Steve can only see the back of her with her dusty pink cardigan and mother hen bun and knew the old bird was probably glaring right back at him. 

He probably deserved it. 

It was weird for Billy to be late. The guy was, like, obsessed with being on time, ice or not. 

_He’s at his mom’s house,_ Max’s voice echoed around his brain. Steve wondered how far out of town her house was. If he hadn’t adjusted for the travel or something, how Sam Cunnigham used to end up at school after hours because he forgot which bus he was supposed to be on. 

He wondered if Billy was like Sam, disoriented because of the change. 

He looked the same though, looked _pissed_ as usual, he noted. 

Except he was wearing this red and black flannel, which, it wasn’t like Steve cared but he’s heard Hargrove specifically rag on people for wearing flannel before. Said it was the most hick thing you could wear, short of a bolo tie and a cowboy hat. 

Mid-mentally calling Billy a hypocrite Mrs. Finch turned around to look at him. Her eyes narrowed like a hawk about to dive on its kill. 

_Do hawks even dive?_

“ _Why_ ” Steve groaned underneath his breath. He wasn’t sure why he was still walking when he knew for a fact it was already over, and so close to his locker too. 

“I don’t know where you think you’re going, young man.” Steve shrunk at the sound of her shrill voice. 

“To class?” He said innocently. 

_Shit._

Rule number one: Don’t play dumb with Mrs. Finch. It was, what Jonathan calls, ‘patronizing.’ 

“To class,” she repeated, using the same shrill voice as she bustled her way toward him as fast as skinny, little legs and bad hips could take. “If you wanted to go to class, Steven, you should’ve come on time.” 

He grimaced at being called _Steven,_ only his parents call him _Steven._ Steven was a goddamn mistake and a nuisance. “You’re so right, Mrs. Finch,” he said. At this point, all he could do was lay down in the middle of the hallway and die. Maybe just...turn blue and pass out, like one of those kids that held their breath until they got what they wanted. 

“It seems like I’m the only one in this school who knows the rules, do you know wh—” Really, he could’ve listened to talk about how lousy their generation is—their generation didn’t have to dig for turnips in the war gardens or something—but there was Billy. 

Grinning smugly as he walked past them. 

He waggled his fingers at him. It has to be some kind of stupid _California, West Coast_ wave because no one Steve’s ever seen has looked that stupid while waving. At least no where he’s been. 

Steve glared at him. 

There was no way Billy hadn’t ratted on him because it was Billy and that’s just who he is.

_***_

It was weird, being the only one who knew something. Basketball and who was fucking who didn’t feel as important when just once Steve couldn’t say _something._ It felt like the sky was falling but he was the only one that noticed. 

He couldn’t just stop Scott Fulsom in the middle of rattling off baseball stats to point out that Hawkins lab had a literal gate to another dimension in it. That was the bit that wore Steve down the most. He never wanted to be someone who was different. Dustin said he used to be like a hiveminded jockstrap and he kind of was. Steve knew for a fact he wasn’t proud of how much of a dick he used to be, but he wasn’t _different_ then either. 

He was just like everyone else. 

Which was fine. Exceedingly fine, actually. 

He had no idea where Nancy and Jonathan hid out during lunch period, these days, but if they were around they’d probably tell him to get ahold of himself. Jonathan, king of the weirdos, whose literal theme song should be _People Are Strange,_ would probably tell him he’s better off for it. 

Sitting between Ben and Wayne he didn’t really _feel_ better off for it. He felt like a pair of old socks in a new gym bag—his grandfather’s saying, not his. 

Billy was in his old spot, and he _does_ feel better about that.

Firstly, he doesn’t envy him. Tommy took over Billy’s job in November for a while. Most likely because both of them looked like walking bruises. He really didn’t miss it. 

_Most of it._

Like, if he had to put it in a percentage, he’d say he missed 10% of it. That level of honesty was probably an improvement for him. 

Secondly, all four grades sharing a lunch period was the worst idea ever...because he can see Billy, the empty seat beside him blocked by his entire body while Tommy and Carol sat opposite of him. Same table. Same seat. Same people. 

Steve wrinkled his nose and stuck another piece of cold meatloaf in his mouth. The guys are still on baseball he was pretty sure. Sometimes he just had to smile and nod his way through a lunch conversation.

Don’t get it wrong, he could throw his hat in the ring on collegiate baseball, but the word _college_ made his stomach turn. And most of the conversation was just Scott showing off that he knew more than everybody else anyway.

_No thank you._

The guys are used to ‘spacey Steve.’ Turns out getting tunnel vision and forgetting where you are, who you’re with and if you even have a body isn’t all that normal.

Steve watched Tommy dig his way through Billy’s lunch box. It wasn’t like Steve looked often, but he’s never seen the guy with a lunch…like ever. Let alone a whole lunchbox with a goddamn sandwich in it.

Max didn’t talk about Billy’s dad often except to complain about how much a tightwad the guy was. Before this Billy didn’t have a freakin’ lunchbox let alone a canteen to piss in if he wanted to. Steve could try to figure out what that meant, but he didn’t.

“ _Earth to Steve!_ ”

Steve grimaced and flinched when the plastic straw wrapper flicked his temple. “Jesus, what?” He glared at Ben, rubbing his temple even if it didn’t really hurt. “ _What?_ ”

“Nothing.” They laughed. “How are the G’s space cadet?”

Steve laughed dryly. “They’re great. Just great. What do you want?”

Ben must have thought he was Eddie Murphy or something because he just laughed. Steve twisted around to look behind him at the lumbering mass standing over him. Michael Lowry was another one of Steve’s problems. The guy was _huge_ like Andre the Giant huge, with an unfortunate case of acne, and an even worse taste in fashion. The thick knit sweater he had looked warm, except the holes that were worn in on the elbows obviously, but it was at least eight different shades of shit-brown.

Now that Jonathan’s moved up from total creep to just weird sometimes, that left Michael in his place. Not your usual valedictorian, but he was the only Hawkins High had. He was also the only student free to tutor him, lucky for Steve, _obviously._

“Hi Michael,” Steve said tightly.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be seen talking with him, the end of the world makes social standings seem pretty unimportant, but…

“Hi,” Michael sighed.

“What’s up?”

“No tutoring today—dentist appointment,” he said. It always _felt_ like he was purposely sounding disappointed in him whenever he spoke. Or he was just “projecting” or something like Nancy would say. “Congrats, you’re off the hook.” Michael’s voice had a bite too it then, like he was expecting him to actually be happy about it.

“Great,” Steve said, evenly. “Thanks, man, see you Wednesday then.”

“Yeah,” he said, heavily. “Sure thing.”

Steve watched the guy lumber off in the same way he probably came.

“Fucking weird guy, right?” Wayne said, doing the same as Steve.

He shrugged. He didn’t know anything about the guy, and he wasn’t in the position to pass judgments anymore. Not that he ever was, he just thought he was. He was pretty sure the guy just hated his guts, that was all.

He just had no idea why.

“I don’t know,” Steve lied. “Takes all types I guess.” He stuck a piece of meatloaf in his mouth and chewed. When he looked up, Billy was flinging a bag of cookies in Tommy’s direction like a zookeeper feeding a starving hyena.

Because let’s be real, Tommy is _definitely_ a hyena.

“Takes all types,” Steve repeated.

Billy dumped the remaining contents of his lunch into the trashcan. The look on his face was the same sour expression he’s had all day. Steve was suddenly glad they don’t have basketball practice on Mondays.

The bell rang, making everyone spring back into action. Steve grabbed his tray and Ben’s and Wayne’s—because it was practically reflex at this point, Carol doesn’t know how to pick up after herself— and went to dump them in the same trashcan.

Steve dumped their trays in the trash and then went to the now empty table where Billy, Tommy, Carol, and the usual crew of high school high court sat. He grabbed the littered Styrofoam trays, cartons of chocolate milk, and the lone yellow Post-it Note.

Have a Great Day!

\- 

Love, Mom 

“ _Huh_.” Steve snorted and put the note back at Billy’s spot. It wasn’t like the janitor wasn’t going to toss it in a few minutes anyway. He just felt he shouldn’t.

And, _again,_ he doesn’t care.

He just wanted to be in the know _before_ shit hit the fan for once. Maybe—and he’d probably get his head slammed into a locker for it—it was a good thing to know Billy was at his mom’s house when it seemed like no one else did.


	7. Lilly

Mary drove a Plymouth Reliant. Her pearls were fake—too perfect to be real, but that didn't matter. In her experience, there's no 'type of person' who picks up a hitch-hiker, but she was probably her first, and she probably only did it because she looked "safe."

Mary looked like the moms that made her skin crawl when she was younger. She was certainly older than her, a nice silk blouse over a navy sweater. She probably has two or three kids, and a husband with too many faults but not enough to leave.

She wouldn't dare leave.

_Never._

For Lilly, it was better to talk than assume. Otherwise, she could spin an entire story of this woman's life without ever getting to know her. And if anything, making assumptions as only ever made an ass out of everyone. 

The music on the radio turned to the news after a while. They were talking about the politics--mostly Reagan. His inauguration was today, apparently.

“Did you see it?” She asked.

"He’s so well-spoken," Mary said emphatically. "Did you?"

“No, I was working. I try not to pay attention to that kind of stuff.”

She was lying, but it wasn’t like she wanted to get into a debate with Mary over the merits of their current president--insufferable, egotistic pig or not.

“Oh, I think you absolutely have to,” Mary said assuredly. “People like him keep us responsible for our actions.”

Lilly's lips pressed thin. She hummed instead of answering. The clock on the dash, it was 8:56 p.m., and Billy was home alone.

It's funny how the mind works. Between a teenage boy home alone and a woman getting in a stranger’s car, she knew which one sounded more like it’d end up on the nightly news.

 _He's home_ , she thought with a forced amount of certainty. 

_Probably._

Lilly sighed through her nose. Her lips pressed together in irritation.

_Definitely._

~~_If he’s not dead._ ~~

~~_He could’ve choked to death._ ~~

~~_Or been taken._ ~~

~~_Or—_ ~~

Lilly’s fingers curled into her floral skirt.

Mary turned to look at her questioningly, if not a little warily. She had, after all, picked up a complete stranger walking down Main Street.

“Something wrong?”

Lilly sat back in her seat. She could say, ‘I just think Reagan is an asshat, that’s all,’ but all she would be doing is stirring the pot for no reason. And, sure, she used to be good at that, but there were some things that needed to stay in the past.

She was supposed to be setting a good example. 

“Just thinking,” she sighed “Long day. I’m ready to get home and relax...see my son.”

“Well,” Mary laughed in a bitter kind of way. “In my experience, my girls hardly notice when I’m gone unless they can’t find their clarinet, or their lucky socks, or their homework. You know how kids are.”

Her honey brown eyes pulled from the road to look at Lilly. You do know how kids are, right? Her expression says, as if she could see through her act, and knew she didn’t, in fact, know how they are at all.

Because she wasn’t around. She left.

They just met. How could she know that?

She doesn’t, Lilly thought sternly to herself.

Lilly couldn’t even pretend to know what Billy would be doing right now. ~~_Maybe he never even made it home. The roads were icy. Maybe he--_~~. She chewed on her nail and shrugged in return.

“I think he notices,” Lilly said quietly.

The humor in that statement, what little there was, wasn’t lost on her.

Mary clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She turned onto the street where Kerly and Cornwallis met. “You must be doing something I’m not.”

“Probably not,” Lilly muttered.

Even though it was a cold night, and she was sure Mary would be willing to take her the rest of the way—like most people are—she preferred to walk. Something about letting strangers know exactly where she lived still made her uncomfortable.

“Are you sure?” Mary asked. Her eyes shifted around the dark wooded road. “It’s...cold out and—.” She sucked in a breath, her lips flattened into an awkward smile. “The cold’s you can catch are ugly this time of year.”

Lilly liked to pretend as if she didn’t know why the street she lived on made people so nervous because it made them feel better about it. She knew before she moved here what happened. When she found out Neil was moving Billy here, the disappearance of Will Byers was the only thing she could find out about Hawkins.

Billy could too, you know…

And who’s fault would it be?

You’re supposed to be watching him.

“Oh, absolutely,” Lilly said with a forced amount of certainty and a too-bright smile. “I do this all the time. Thank you for taking me this far. If you ever need anything don’t be afraid to ask.” She always offered something in return, and sometimes people did come back with a favor and sometimes they didn’t.

Mary chewed her bottom lip, staining her teeth with red. “Alright,” she said. “You have a good night then.”

“You too,” she waved, still smiling. She stepped back onto the grass, giving Mary and her cream-white Plymouth enough room to turn reverse back down Bay Meadow. She pulled her flashlight out of her bag and began walking home.

It was the little things that usually reminded Lilly how far she had come. Moonlight on her skin, the uneven gravel underneath her feet, the sound of nature clear without a wall between them, stuff like that. She felt at ease in it…mostly.

“All things considered, you could be on the ground hyperventilating right now,” Lilly said aloud. Her own voice in the darkness seemed to keep it at bay better than the flashlight. “But we don’t need to do that. You already know what that’s like.”

She waved with her flashlight as she passed the Byers’s house. A figure in the window, too tall to be Joyce or Will, waved back. That must be Jonathan, the eldest Byers boy.

She hadn’t met him yet, but from how Joyce described him he was a lot like Will—quiet, artistic, sweet, maybe a bit more pessimistic than both of them combined, but a good kid. He’s around Billy’s age. They probably know each other in a school as small as theirs.

“And if Jonathan’s home. Billy probably is,” she wiped her sweating hands along the length of her skirt. “And I don’t think he’d appreciate seeing you freaked out over nothing. God knows when you freak out he freaks out.”

That was probably still true even after all these years. She couldn’t imagine it not being true, remembering the way Billy would often pick up on her moods so easily. He would look at her, eyebrows furrowed underneath long hair, eyes too blue and round. His shoulders would fall and he would say: “you’re having another bad day.”

Never a question. Always a statement because he could just tell.

Her house wasn’t far off in the distance. Lilly settled. The kitchen light was on and a thick stack of smoke plumed from the chimney. The garage door was closed, but she knew sitting behind it would be his blue Camaro and he would be inside the house.

“Hey! I’m home!”

“ _Ooph!_ ”

Lilly heard the sound of heavy paws hitting the hardwood floor, and then, Billy grumbling, “Jesus, crazy goddamn dog.” Very soon a 130lbs dog would be coming her way.

“Hey baby,” Lilly cooed. She stooped to scratch behind her dog’s ears and kiss the top of her head. “Was it nice having someone home with you today?”

“Pretty sure that thing just cracked one of my ribs,” Billy muttered, rubbing along his abdomen. “He thinks he’s a lap dog.” He leaned against the wall, looking at Bull with a faint smile.

“He’s just affectionate, sunshine. He likes to cuddle,” she said as she pet Bull’s head. She took her jacket off along with her purse and hung them up in the closet.

She was almost surprised Billy came to greet her at all. He looked the same as this morning, the same as yesterday, but maybe softer around the edges.

Maybe a little more comfortable than yesterday.

Lilly slipped off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen. It was ingrained in her to go there before anywhere else, usually to grab a snack, to put food away, to finish off the d—.

She whirled around to look at him, “you did the dishes?”

Billy snorted, a smirk stretched across his lips and then he kissed his teeth. “Yeah, ma.”

“You didn—”

Billy cut her off. “You’re welcome.”

Her mouth snapped shut. Maybe he seemed more comfortable, but he was the same as yesterday. Prickly and as evasive as yesterday.

“Thank you,” she muttered.

The silence felt heavy. Billy didn’t leave like she expected him to. He was a teenager after all. They’re nebulous, known to make an appearance and leave when the grownups are satisfied.

Instead, she could feel her son’s eyes at her back, watching her as she rummaged around the kitchen. The only sound was Bull lapping at his water bowl.

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of it until I said something at work about you being on your own. I half expected there to be a party in the house when I got back,” Lilly said. “I mean, it’s a Monday, but I was gone for hours, so…”

Silence.

Lilly paced around the kitchen. Her feet hurt from standing behind the counter at Melvald’s all day, but it didn’t matter she was anxious…and hungry. “Not that you can’t have friends over. I want you to have friends over, actually, I’d just rather you tell me first.”

Silence.

She opened the fridge and pulled out the container of last night’s leftover. Billy had, in fact, thoroughly demolished it, but there was enough for her to eat and go to bed. “And it probably wouldn’t be on a Monday night, anyway. Not that I would say no, but I don’t know what anyone would want to do on a Monday night besides read a book and go to bed.”

Lilly stuck the container in the microwave and finally turned to look at him. Billy had his thumbnail between his teeth and he looked bored. She exhaled as her breath caught up to her from rambling. “You can chime in any time you know?” She said with a small laugh. “Or, actually--what did you get up to today, sunshine?”

Billy shrugged one shoulder. “Jack shit."

Lilly raised an eyebrow. He seemed to almost glare at her as if he knew what she was thinking. Her lips pursed and she sighed. Pick your battles. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll allow that, but no f-bombs.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed. “You used to swear all the time, ma.”

Lilly grabbed her food and a fork and began eating. “Doesn’t mean I want you to. And besides, I'm giving you half the damn mile, most kids can’t say darn in the house."

Billy grimaced at her. “Fix your face, sweetie, before it gets stuck like that.” She took a seat at the kitchen table and looked at him and then the chair expectantly, “are you gonna stand?”

“I’m not staying,” Billy snapped. “I’m just bored. Your TV’s broken and there's nothing to do.”

“There’s a manual up there actually if you wanna see if you can fix it. I haven’t tried."

“Up there?” Billy said, taking a seat across from her.

“The attic,” she explained. “It’s in one of the boxes up there somewhere. Along with all the other shit I couldn't fit down here.”

Billy raised an eyebrow.

“You said it, I can say it, sweetheart,” Lilly groused. "And I'm tired. I'm not at my best."

The silence this time was nearly comfortable...almost. Billy was across from her, lingering, despite what he said about not staying, just chatting because they hadn’t all day.

It was so normal.

They could become normal. “There are books up there too in case you get bored again," she said. "Just until we get the TV up and running. I’m hoping I don’t have to buy a new one."

His eyes were cast down, looking at his thumbnail digging into the wood polish. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Was it weird? Having the whole place to yourself? I know you have a little step-sister," Lilly asked carefully. Some things she was afraid to mention.

The Mayfields were one of them. 

"No, just quiet," He said, his expression unreadable.

"Do you two get along or..."

Billy cackled, high pitched and sour. "Nah, she's a bitch." He sat back in the wooden kitchen chair with a familiar, fractured grin. The type that didn't reach his eyes, but seemed to make them burn brighter anyway. "She thinks she deserves a fucking throne just for breathing. Whiney pain in my ass never stops complaining. I was late yesterday 'cause I had to take her to her friend's birthday party."

He looked away from her, his arms crossed. His leg jiggled. Billy opened his mouth like he was going to speak and shut it, thinking better of whatever he was about to say. "Name's Max. She's like...twelve, I think, probably thirteen, actually."

Lilly's grin pulled half of her face. "Sounds like most thirteen-year-olds then," she said.

Billy snorted. He still didn't look at her when he spoke, "Trust me, she's different."

She picked at the last of her food. Her free hand rolled into a fist to put her head on. "You don't think you're going to miss her coming over here?"

"No," he said immediately. Part of him was positive this wasn’t going to last long anyway.

"Bet my brother thought the same thing about me," she muttered under her breath. "Oh! Do you remember your uncle Nathan?"

His nose wrinkled a little in thought. 

Billy only met him a few times and he was young then. No one from her side had seen Billy in years. The last time he saw her parents he was seven. He didn’t know it yet, but he grew up to look just like his grandfather.

He died when he was probably eleven or twelve and his grandma passed when he was around thirteen. She would have to tell him that at some point too.

Billy sat still for a long time, except his bouncing leg. "Not really...I remember he used to wear nice clothes. Had a real nice car."

Lilly chuckled. "He still does. You've got cousins now...by the way. Three."

Billy chewed the inside of his cheek. "Huh..." His face said it all: 'I don't know what to do with that.' To him they were just blank faces and blank names with no real connection to him. They were as real to him as Santa Clause. 

"I just figured..." she shrugged. "I met one of them myself—cutest little girl on the planet she’s going to be spoiled rotten I swear." She sucked in a breath. He didn’t know any of them. The conversation drained her. They’d go over family some other time when it all didn’t seem sad. 

If that ever happens.

“I know I didn’t tell you, and I didn’t expect you too either. I probably should’ve, I mean, how would you know?” Lilly said. “Although, I’m sure Bull m—”

“Ma,” Billy groaned. “The point?”

“Did you let Bull out?”

“Yeah, he was going nuts in here, so I let him out,” he said. “Played fetch with him, damn near ripped my arm off playing tug of war.” Billy turned in his chair to look at Bull, laying down near the living room entry. He had that same faint smile. 

He loves that dog.

Lilly wasn’t surprised. He used to want a dog so badly, hell, every kid without a pet probably wanted a dog at some point. But Billy especially, he loved every dog he saw. It didn’t help that she used to dog sit when he was younger.

“Good, thanks. I should’ve mentioned that,” she muttered. “Probably shouldn’t have left you home willy-nilly without telling you anything either. That’s on me.”

Billy looked at her with the same grin. “What? You thought I was gonna burn the house down?”

“Only if you got bored, sunshine. Lord knows you can get into it when you get bored.” Lilly stood with her empty plate. “But still, just so we’re clear: no running around buck wild while I’m gone. No parties. No friends without telling me first. Let the dog out and do your homework. Are we clear?”

“That’s it?” Billy said, clearly not believing her.

“Yes… and if you could clean up every once in awhile, that’d be appreciated.” She rinsed the dish off with soap and water and put it on the drying rack. “Speaking of that, you did do your homework, right?”

“Jeezus,” Billy slumped over on the table and then looked at her. “Yeah, ma, I did my homework. How old do you think I am?”

Lilly turned to look at him, a smirk playing upon her lips and one of her eyebrows arched. She offered out a hand, “Okay, then let me see it.”

Billy’s head dipped. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” she said. “C’mon let me see it.” Billy leveled her with a look as if trying to gauge how serious she was. “The longer you sit here the more sure I am you didn’t do it, Billy.”

Billy’s fingers tapped across the table he looked at her furtively, lips pursed. “Fine—”

There was a ‘but’ coming.

Billy stood. “But I’m telling you right now, I didn’t do my math homework, and I’m not going to.” He went around the corner to living and came back with a stack of papers. He smacked them down on the kitchen table.

“Why not?”

“Can’t,” Billy said simply.

“ _Can’t_ or _won’t?_ ”

“Physically can’t,” he said with a smug grin. “Can’t do the math homework if I don’t have it.”

Lilly’s eyebrows furrowed. “You lost it?”

_Worse._

Billy shrugged. “Left my textbook at my old man’s…not seeing that thing for another,” he looked down at his watch, “twelve-ish days.”

She was wondering when he was going to mention him, or if she would have to do it first. Lilly’s lips pressed thin. Her eyes darkened. “Fine. Then ask the teacher for another textbook, if they have one or an old edition. If they give you a hard time about it, I’ll handle it.”

Billy’s eyebrow rose. “That’s what you’re gonna do?”

“It’s what you’re going to do, mister,” she amended. “It’s only my job if they give you a hard time about it. But I don’t see why they would. Sounds like no big deal.”

It seemed odd to Billy how simple she made it sound. Like she didn’t think Neil wouldn’t tell him not to say jack shit to anyone about this or it’s his ass. Like she’s almost forgotten what he’s like.

There was no working around him.

Billy smiled tightly. “Yeah, easy peasy,” he said. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Hey! Hey!” Lilly waved his homework. “Don’t forget to put this in your backpack.” He took it back. She lingered for a moment. “Good night.”

It still felt odd to have to look up at him. He used to be so little. He used to love night time when she told him good night.

Years and years ago, she reminded herself.

“Night ma.”

“Good night kiss?” She changed her mind as soon as she saw his face screw up. She laughed, “good night hug?”

“...Sure.” 

She wrapped her arms around him, smoothing over the mussed curls at the back of his head, just like she used to when he barely reached her chest. “Sleep well, sunshine.”

“You too.” He let go. She watched him head down the hall, he passed Bull and the big dog lumbered after him faithfully. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!! I updated!!! Again??? This wasn't up nearly as fast as I wanted it to be, but I'm already working on the next chapter! The next one the ball starts rolling on things finally *phew*


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